I'm Not Addicted Yet
by Iffy Jr
Summary: Derek/Stiles rent boy AU. "Stiles smokes, cuts, and sells himself for a place to stay—and honestly, he enjoys the men he gets. But then he meets Derek… A big, gentle man with a cigarette. He couldn't resist. Derek just wants Stiles to have a place to stay at first, but Stiles never did like sleeping alone. Oh well, he's not addicted… Yet." COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: Alright, something I threw together for some inspiration while writing a different story of mine… Also this may be the exact same idea of an Avengers story that I wrote (titled "Addictions") but shhh you Teen Wolf people just don't need to read that one! It's a Sterek rent boy AU wherein Stiles is the rb. This was inspired by Come Around Soon by Sara Bareilles, and for reasons I've thrown a couple lines in and I'll bold them so you know what they are :P (Although sometimes I'll have altered them slightly so they fit the fic better.) PS if my rendition of the whole cutting thing (yeah there's that too) is something that you don't like, I apologize, but it was based off of my own experience with it, so there. PPS someone said for the Thorki story that there was too much sexual whatevers? FYI this is a rent boy fic what did you expect

**Summary**: Derek/Stiles rent boy AU. "Stiles smokes, cuts, and sells himself for a place to stay—and honestly, he enjoys the men he gets. But then he meets Derek… A big, gentle man with a cigarette. He couldn't resist. Derek just wants Stiles to have a place to stay at first, but Stiles never did like sleeping alone. Oh well, he's not addicted… Yet." COMPLETE.

**Pairing**: (Main) Derek/Stiles; (Other) Lydia/Jackson,  
**Rating**: Mature  
**Additional tags/warnings**: strong language; AU - Human, AU - Rent Boy; romance; self harm, cutting; crazy family relations whaaat; fast love; romantic!Derek, seriously did you say how he acted with Jennifer he's the sweetest thing in the world all of his gf's just suck so he's usually a hard-ass; let's just pretend that Stiles is way shorter than Derek because height differences are cute; bitch!Jennifer; m/m and m/f pairings; sexual content

* * *

**Chapter One**

Quick note: In this fic Stiles is 20, Derek is 25, Lydia is 36, Matt is 22, and nooobody else matters! Enjoy :)

* * *

Stiles wanders aimlessly down the city streets for a place to sit, because where else is there to go? His thin red sweatshirt has its sleeves pushed up to reveal scars, and his hood is just barely set atop of his hair. He used to keep it short, but he hasn't gotten around to a haircut in a while, so it's kinda shaggy as of current. He's out of cigarettes, and that would bother him more if it wasn't for the fact that he also ran out of fluid in his lighter, so he couldn't light one up anyway.

He walks with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the empty box of cancer sticks playing between his fingers, and ravens and pigeons are scattered around the sidewalk and getting under his ratty old Converse. He lets his head fall back every once in a while to look up at the sky, taking in what little of the stars he can see passed the clouds. **Oh, it looks like rain tonight, but thank god, because a clear sky just wouldn't feel right.**

Stiles stumbles upon one of those weird, wall heaters just a few feet inside of an alley, most likely pulling cool air into whatever building it's attached to. He moves in to sit on it, letting his legs hang over to warm up. It's later October, after all. He should have dressed warmer—or at least roll his sleeves down. His feet tap mindlessly in the air.

People pass and don't notice him. Women going home from work, men going home from clubs, and vice versa. There's one man, though, that catches Stiles' attention fast enough: short black hair and one of those perfect five o'clock shadows, a snazzy leather jacket, and a look that Stiles can't tell if he's coming from the club or the office or anywhere else. The most important part, though, is the new cigarette he's pulling out a box.

"Hey," Stiles calls before he can stop himself, but he **could use another cigarette**, so he wouldn't have held back anyway.

The man pauses and looks around before spotting Stiles. He's not menacing at all, especially not two feet down the alley. The wall opposite to him doesn't even run the same length as the one the heater is attached to, so they're basically out in the open still.

When they catch eyes, he points to himself as if to ask, _me?_

Stiles nods, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He would push down his sleeves to hide the scars, but he doubts the man will look. Usually only women notice them. Besides, the heater is wafting up to his arms, and they're cold too.

"Could I possibly trouble you for one of those?" he asks. "I just finished mine off." He pulls out the empty box, flipping it between his fingers a few times before setting it down beside him.

He smiles warmly (Stiles swears an angel from heaven itself is behind those lips), putting his unlit cigarette into his mouth and walking over to Stiles. he has a second out by the time he gets to him, standing right in front of him—too close, really, but Stiles will do anything for a cancer stick. He can usually read people pretty well, but this guy is hard. Stiles isn't sure if he likes him or if he just has no sense of personal boundaries.

Stiles licks his lips and opens his mouth, and the man sets the cigarette between his lips without a second thought, pulling out a lighter. He has the clearest green eyes that Stiles has ever seen in his life, and he can't help but stare as he leans in close enough to me to light both of the cigs at the same time.

"Cold?" the man asks, glancing down at the heater before darting back to Stiles' own brown eyes.

His voice hits Stiles like a drag to deep. **He sounds like thunder, though he's barely spoken.** Stiles nods.

He looks Stiles over, pulling out cigarette to puff a cloud of smoke to his right, Stiles' left. "Didn't pack heavy enough for you run away from home?"

Stiles frowns, puffing his own cloud into the guys face. "I'm twenty."

He cocks an eyebrow, taking another drag. "Oh?"

"Yes, and I'm turning twenty-one in about a month. I'm just…small."

He lowers the eyebrow. "Big brothers got all the good genes?"

Stiles shrugs, breathing in the smoke around them like a drag. **But don't worry, he's not addicted yet.** "I wouldn't know. I've never met my family. Grew up in the orphanage a few blocks down, ran away from _that_ when I was fourteen. Nobody wants me, not even the McDonald's 'round the corner. I need experience for a job, but I need a job for experience."

The man's eyes have the decency to turn sad. "You've been on your own all this time?"

No. No, this is not what Stiles wanted. So he shakes his head no. "I have somewhere I can go. I have some friends around here."

But the man picks out exactly what he means: "You shouldn't do that to yourself," he says softly.

Stiles snorts. "It's that or the streets, and in my opinion that's worse." He takes another drag. What is it about this guy that makes Stiles talk? He likes to talk, but not about himself. He just likes places to stay, people to sleep with… Telling secrets aren't his thing.

The man reaches up a large, calloused hand to finger the fabric at Stiles' shoulder. "How do you get things if you don't have any money?"

"Homeless donations." Stiles blows out smoke, letting it out in a perfect ring. Maybe he is addicted… "Or my friends. They like me. That's where I got my last box of cigarettes, the last place I went to. He likes me best."

The man's eyes drop to the understands of Stiles' arms, and he tries to inconspicuously turn them over in hopse he hasn't seen them yet, but it's too late: "Do they like those, too?"

Stiles shrugs. "They don't mention them and I don't ask if they do."

"Do you disinfect them?"

"I never have before and I've been fine, so it's not entirely my idea to start now."

Stiles didn't notice that the man was still holding the lighter until he pockets it. "Come on," he says, a light smile on his face. "It's late, it's going to rain, and you know you don't want to go home with those friends of yours. I've got an extra room in my place. Or a couch. Or a floor. Wherever you're most comfortable."

Stiles frowns. He doesn't usually make it a practice of going home with _total_ strangers. He did give him cigarettes, though… "I don't know," he says quietly, averting his eyes.

"Maybe not, but I'll bet that you don't know those guys either."

Stiles ducks his head completely, blowing out more smoke. "The guys I go with I've talked to multiple times in bars, or one of those guys relays me to one of _their_ friends. I also have a mutual friend who calls around for me. I know them enough that they're not going to lock me in their basement."

The man shrugs. "It's your choice, then."

Stiles looks up at him, taking in another drag, his chest expanding deep. The man is closer now, his thighs pressed against the header between Stiles' spread legs. There are still a few inches between them, but that's just because the heater sticks out a ways and Stiles is all the way back against the wall. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Derek Hale," he says, holding out a hand.

"Stiles something," Stiles says without taking it, sliding forward to hop off the heather.

The man slowly steps out of the way, his hand brushing against his side to sort of help him down. "Well I'm glad you ran out of cigarettes, Stiles," he says, dropping the hand to his own side. "I take it you're okay with walking another couple blocks?"

"I've just been walking all day anyway," Stiles says, following after him. He stays close to his side, but not close enough to touch. He's warm, though, and the absence of the heater on his legs makes him shiver once.

"Still cold?" Derek asks, blowing out a ring not unlike Stiles'.

"I like the cold," Stiles lies. "Or, I'm used to it enough."

Derek smiles, wrapping an unsuspected arm around Stiles' waist. "Liar."

Stiles just goes for it and leans against him, annoyed by all of the lies he's seeing through. There's something about him, like he's had to put up with these things before. Liars, tricksters, manipulators… Must've had one hell of a family for that. Or is that normal? Stiles wouldn't know, he's never had one.

"What do you live in?" Stiles asks after about a block of silence, soaking in his warmth. He doesn't care about the looks they're getting, and Derek doesn't seem to mind either. Most people around here know who Stiles is, which is part of the reason that he doesn't get hired anywhere. No one wants a homeless teenager with rent-boy tendencies working for them.

"Condo," Derek says. "Two bedrooms, three bathrooms, and an open kitchen/dining/living room sort of area. Plenty of closet space."

Stiles snorts. "Right, because I need _lots_ of that."

Derek smiles down at him. "Who knows, maybe your friends will send you a new pair of stylish boots in the male." He frowns at himself before Stiles can react. "You don't even have a bag? No extra shirts or anything?"

Stiles shrugs. "I keep anything I get at the place of my mutual friend. She keeps a space open in her closet. I usually just sleep on her couch, but I try not to. She and her boyfriend can get kind of loud.

Derek tilts his head slightly. "A woman? I expected another man. Who are they? I might know if, if they're not in business society. I'm a construction worker."

Stiles smiles. "Lydia and Jackson," he says. "They both grew up in business families, but they wanted to get away from it all. Lydia works at a little gypsy styled bar (the Garpsy) a few roads to the left, and Jackson—"

"Jackson Whittemore?"

Stiles nods.

"I know him. He works where we get a lot of our lumber from. I'm sure I've seen Lydia around too, then… What does she look like?"

"Gorgeous strawberry blonde with perfect lips," Stiles says. He's one-hundred and twelve percent gay, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate someone.

Derek nods. "Yeah, I've seen her around. Very pretty. Not really my type."

"Good thing since Jackson would hire people to kick your ass."

Derek just smiles back and somewhat changes the subject: "It doesn't seem all that bad now that I know the people," he says, tapping the end of his cigarette so it crumbles a bit at the used end. Stiles follows suit. "Staying over with random men, I mean. Do they…well, I take it they don't all have extra rooms."

Stiles ducks his head, pulling in a drag. "Yeah, about that, are you really having me sleep in the extra bedroom? I mean, we're kind of close right now…"

The hand around Stiles' waist pats him lightly before turning them both to the right to a set of condos. "Just keeping you warm. I'm only twenty-five, by the way. You keep looking at me like I'm eighty."

Stiles laughs a little. "I would have guessed thirty-something. It's the stubble, not to mention whatever construction work you do must give you a serious workout. I mean…damn."

Derek chuckles, fishing out a guy. "Yes, I really was going to put you into the extra room. If you're going to be too cold, though, there's enough room for two."

"Nice of you, but what you're saying is that you intend for me to keep my innocence under your watch?"

"If I can. Whatever you have left."

Stiles snorts. "Hate to tell you, but I've been with all sorts. You're really the only one missing out here."

He pushes open the door, holding it as he steers them both inside. "I'm not sure if I should be taking that as an invitation," he says cautiously as he pushes the button for floor two in the elevator, "or if I should reprimand you on the fact that you should spend your nights alone when you can."

"This may come as a surprise to you," Stiles says, "but I somewhat like sharing a bed with someone. Usually people who don't really talk, but most of those people don't give me cigarettes, so…well, exceptions, exceptions."

They walk out of the elevator, turning left to the one door in the direction. "Really?" he asks. There's a cheerful "UNWELCOME" mat on the floor, and Derek flicks his key ring around until he comes to a new one to unlock the condo. "You didn't really strike me as that type of someone—or someone who would do anything for a cigarette."

Stiles shrugs, taking in the last drag. "It happens when you start at sixteen."

Derek shrugs back. "It's worse at fifteen." He lets go of Stiles' waist and walks inside, leaving him there at the threshold to look after him with a small smile before following him in.

The place is clean and decorated in lots of black and silver, and Derek is whistling to a song Stiles can't place as he moves around in the kitchen.

"This is it," he says, gesturing around him without turning around. "The computer is down the hall to the right if you have anything to check, or if you'd just rather hang out with the TV it's in my bedroom. You can just bunker down in my bed, if you want."

Stiles swallows tightly. "Can I maybe just…walk around a little?" he asks. "Just to look."

"Feel free. The extra room is down the hall to the left, basically as far back as it goes."

Stiles nods, following those directions. It's a nice room, of course. There's a single bed, a very large nightstand, a desk in the corner, and yes, a closet with ample space for the things Stiles doesn't have. So he pulls off his Converse and socks and sets them beside the bed before he shrugs off his sweatshirt and hangs it awkwardly by itself in the closet. He's just wearing a solid black t-shirt underneath, also too thin for the coming winter.

"Do you take anything in your coffee?"

Stiles turns around from sitting on the bed to see Derek standing in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe. "No," he says. "I don't usually drink it at all."

Derek frowns. "Where do you keep all your razors?"

"Sweatshirt pocket," he says. "Take them and I'll leave, and probably knick that mug of coffee you're making as well. Don't push it."

Derek raises his arms in defeat. "That wasn't my plan; I was just wondering. Do you want to clean them, maybe? Disinfectants and soap and…whatnot."

Stiles blinks at him. The last person who actually talked about his scars didn't talk about them very nicely, so this is…pleasing. "Yes, please," he says, though it comes out a lot quieter than he intended.

"How about that coffee first? Actually, no offence, but you look like you could use some sleep. Maybe water instead?"

Stiles smirks, going over to fish the three razors out of his sweatshirt pocket. "No thanks. I could use some caffeine, I think."

Derek nods, and Stiles follows him back to the kitchen. They just stand there in the kitchen as they sip, leaning against the counters, with the razors sitting there beside the sink. It isn't until Stiles is nearly finished with his mug that he realizes he and Derek are standing the exact same way: right leg crossed over the left leg as it supports the body, left elbow leaning against the counter and right hand holding the mug.

Derek notices about then, too, with a breath of a laugh. "That must be it," he says, setting his mug in the sink. "_I'm_ your brother, and all of those genes went to me."

Stiles snorts. "It would make sense except for the fact that we literally look nothing alike. I mean… You're the big, buff, green-eyed stud with a leather jacket compared to…well, me. Short, cast-off, self-harming kid who—"

"Stiles, calm down," he says, taking his mug before it crushes it in his hands from sheer anger. "You cut your arms, there's not need to accidentally slice open your hands with one of my good glasses."

That's when Stiles _knows_ he shouldn't be here, because he doesn't tell people things like that. He never has.

He stands up straight abruptly, glad that Derek already took his mug. "Oh god, I need to go," he says, walking back towards the guest bedroom. "I need to go."

"Wait, Stiles," Derek protests, following after him.

"No, _no_," Stiles says, waving an arm behind him as he snags his sweatshirt off the hook. "I can't stay here. I won't" He shoves his feet into his shoes without tying them up or anything before he walks out of the bedroom, shoving right passed Derek. "I talk too much here. I can't do that." He shrugs on his sweatshirt as he walks to the door.

Right as he's about to open the door, Derek speaks again: "You forgot something, Stiles."

Stiles stops. His razors. He needs those. Yeah, he needs those.

He turns around slowly, shuffling awkwardly back to the kitchen. Derek is holding all three in the palm of his hand, so Stiles holds out his own hand. "Please give them to me?"

"Only if you stay."

Stiles frowns. "I can't."

"No, you _won't_."

"That too."

"I won't give them back unless you stay over for the night. Where are you going to go this late? I'm sure Lydia and Jackson wouldn't like you barging in after ten in the evening. I definitely wouldn't. I won't talk anymore, I promise."

Stiles sighs, leaning against the nearest counter as he pushes the fingers of a hand through his hair. "Nobody's ever _made_ me stay. I don't like it. I'm not even sleeping with you and you want me to stay. That doesn't even make sense."

"Stiles," Derek says quietly. He steps forward and sets the razors lightly on the counter. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Stiles regards him coolly. "_With_ you?"

Derek nods, expression all but masked completely.

"Well," Stiles says, slowly shrugging off his sweatshirt and turning to shake his shoes off. "I can't say not to that now, can I?"

Derek's arms wrap around Stiles from behind, though, which he's actually not ready for. "But," he whispers into Stiles' ear, his breath washing over the side of his face like rolling thunder, "it's going to be about you."

Stiles frowns, turning his neck to face him, whose chin is resting on his shoulder. "I've never had sex like that before. I just…well, let's just say that most people don't hold a candle to me when it comes to how hard and fast I'll get you to come." He smirks.

Derek smirks right back. "Remember when you said I was the only one missing out?"

"Yeah…?"

"I'm not so bad at this whole pleasuring thing either. I promise you'll be glad you stayed."

Stiles purses his lips slightly, looking away again. "And you still promise we won't talk anymore?"

"Not unless you want us to."

"No. No, because last time I didn't want to and I did anyway. Stop me if I start sounding…" He wrinkles his nose up. "Sentimental."

"Deal."

Stiles spins around in his arms, his hands gripping onto his wrists to slide them down just until they're resting on his ass. "Until we get to the bed, though," he says, pushing up on his tiptoes so that their lips are _just_ touching, "you're mine." He kisses him softly, because he just seems the big teddy bear type of guy that would rather take it slower than faster—at least, right at first.

With Derek's hands still gripping to Stiles' ass, Stiles snakes his own hands slowly up his solid blue Henley, his fingers playing over his nipples. He breathes heavier into Stiles' mouth, grinding his half-erection into Stiles' stomach (damn tall people and their height advantages). Alright, so he's not slow at first… Stiles is alright with that.

Stiles managed to push Derek back to the living room couch, pushing him down before grinning at his surprised look and lust-filled eyes. Stiles sinks down to straddle his waist, grinding against his tented jeans. He grips onto the front of his shirt and pulls him down for another kiss, delving his tongue into his mouth. Alright, a fight for dominance. Stiles is alright with that, too.

Stiles' hands go back to his shirt, pushing it up so that his arms are tangled for a moment above his head. And within that small window of opportunity, Stiles does three things all at once: grins down his hips, pinches at a nipple, and sucks hard at the skin of his neck. He moans, jaw slacking slightly as the efforts of getting out of his shirt slow just the tiniest bit. When he does get his arms free, though, a hand shoves down because Stiles' dry thrusts to palm him through his own jeans.

Stiles chokes out a moan against his throat, pulling away. "Fine," he mutters, but he's smiling. "I'm all yours."

Derek leans up and kisses Stiles hard before giving him one of those crazy dreamy smiles you see in romance movies, which is terrifying all in itself. Before Stiles can comment on it, though, he kisses him again, wrapping Stiles' legs around his waist as he stands and begins to make his way back to his bedroom. He crawls onto the bed with Stiles' legs still around his waist, pressing him into soft, warm covers as he arches against him.

"No fighting back, now," he whispers, voice husky, as he trails kisses down Stiles' chin to the tip of his shoulder through his t-shirt.

Stiles smirks, releasing legs from his waist to drop them to the bed. "Whatever you want."

Derek sits back between Stiles' legs, pulling Stiles up with him. "Clothes," he says. "Off."

Stiles does, tossing pants and shirt to the floor. Derek has stripped as well by the time Stiles is, and he pushes him back down, sucking heavily at a spot on Stiles' neck. His hands are roaming over Derek's chest, but suddenly Derek grabs both hands and pushes them up above his head.

"Keep them there," he breathes. And then his _own_ hands start to roam.

And Stiles can safely say that it's one of the best nights he's ever shared with someone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Stiles wakes up tangled in Derek's white sheets so extensively that it literally takes him about twenty seconds to get his legs free. That's odd in itself, because he usually doesn't sleep restless in new places.

Derek is in the bed, but the sound of something sizzling in the kitchen makes that okay. Not that it wouldn't be okay anyway. Just because it's Saturday doesn't mean he doesn't have work, not to mention Stiles is used to waking up alone most of the time anyway. Most guys just want a good fuck. Derek's not "most guys", though, Stiles supposes… He seems to care. Even Lydia doesn't care about Stiles _that_ much. Well ,she does, but she does it in such a way that it's hard to notice. She's the type that likes to keep her affection in the closet unless someone _really_ needs her.

Stiles pushes into a kneeling position facing away from the door, the blankets and sheets pooled up around his waist as he reaches his arms up above his head in a stretch. Both of his elbows crash, as do some of his fingers, and he drops his head back and lets off a good snap-crackle-pop of his neck in both directions as well.

"Oh," Derek's voice says from behind him.

Stiles turns around, reaching a hand to push his hair back to look at where the man is standing in the doorway. He's wearing yesterday's jeans, but there's a new pair of boxers peeking out over the top.

Stiles grins. "What's in the kitchen?" he asks, sitting back down and stretching his legs out.

"Cupboards, dishes, and a few counter tops," he says, walking in. "Why?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. "You're an asshole."

Derek's returning look is warm. "Bacon, eggs, and coffee. You know, normal breakfast. Did you sleep well?"

He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls Stiles into a kiss before he can answer, which Stiles decides to return wholeheartedly. He wasn't ready for it, simply because most guys expect him out by now (what time is it, anyway?), but hasn't Stiles already concluded that Derek isn't most guys? So he just throws his arms around the man's shoulders, still holding onto the blanket so that he's buried underneath it too.

"What time should I be out?" Stiles asks after a few moments—_after_ they've ended up completely under the blankets with their bodies pressed flush against each other. "I can do the laundry and clean my razors like you want me to, and then I'm sure Lydia will be missing me. I can be out in a few hours so you'll be—"

Derek silences him with another kiss, which Stiles isn't ready for either. It's weird that he can surprise him so easily… Stiles thought he'd be ready for everything. "I'm not sure if I _want_ you to go," he breathes back, giving Stiles a smile that's both warm and smug at the same time. "I like you—and I do mean _you_. As a person. Sharing a bed was just an added bonus."

Stiles arches an eyebrow. "_Was_ just an added bonus? What, you're going to have me stay here and _now_ use the guest room?"

He snorts, hands curving around to grip at Stiles' ass, because hey, he's still naked. "You wish. For now, you're all mine. Besides, I'm sure Lydia doesn't want you constantly around her place anyway, mooching off of her and Jackson."

Stiles arches an eyebrow again. "And _you_ want me around to mooch?"

"Well, you _could_ actually do the laundry."

Stiles laughs. "Yes, I'll do your laundry. I'll even do the fucking dishes. I just… One thing."

Derek tilts his head against the pillow its resting against. "Let me guess: a steady supply of cigarettes?"

Stiles grins, but he doesn't actually get to reply because the doorbell dings twice and is swiftly followed by hard, loud knocking.

And that pattern must happen often, because Derek groans. "Shit," he says, pushing up. "Jennifer."

Stiles makes sure he doesn't see the he frowns. Most guys don't like it when you show sad hints about leaving. But, as he's figured out… "Current or ex?" he asks.

Derek snorts unhappily, getting out of the bed after Stiles rolls off of him. "_Very_ ex. It's been at least two months since I broke up with her and she never fails to show up at least once every two weeks to try and get us back together. You might want to, um, hide. She's not very nice to people she sees as a…threat."

Stiles nods, swinging out of the bed as Derek starts walking towards the front door, which is still being knocked on. He gathers up his clothes strewn across the floor and catch a glimpse of Derek hiding his boots and sweatshirt as he heads back to the guest bedroom to hide himself in the closet. Looks like lots of closet space really is going to come in handy…

Stiles dresses silently so he can listen in on the commotion going on in the rest of the condo: the door clicks open, and the first words spoken are from a female voice: "Deeeerek!" she says brightly. "How have you _been_?"

Derek huffs. "Jennifer, you're not welcome here anymore. You know that, _seriously_."

"Oh, posh, you love me!" Heels click against the wooden and tile floors as the woman walks in, no doubt pushing Derek off to the side. For someone so big, he sure lets people guide him around. "Ooh, bacon! Oh, but Derek, you know I don't like eggs…you shouldn't have made so many. And did you put enough coffee in my sugar?" She starts to say something else, but cuts off. "Wait a minute. You didn't know I was coming. Why _are_ there two cups?"

Well damn."

"Jennifer," Derek says in a very calm voice, though it strikes lighting through Stiles' nerves. Stiles doesn't want to be a part of this shit. He really shouldn't have stayed. Well, apart from the amazing sex, the incredible sleep, and the cigarette he got out of the deal… Hell, of course he wants to stay. Shit. "Get out of my house _right now_. I swear to god I will call the police again."

Instead of a verbal answer, there's more clicking as she walks more through the condo. "You have a guest, then?" she asks quietly. "Is it a man or woman? Who is she? Where is he?"

Derek groans. "He's just a friend, Jennifer. He needed a place to stay and I've got the extra room."

Stiles isn't stupid. He knows how this works. So, silently, he gets out of the closet and messes up the covers as he leaps onto the bed so it looks like it was actually used. Stiles is fiddling with his t-shirt sleeve when the door slams open, revealing a brunette woman not near as dress in a pretty blouse and a pencil skirt to match the heels. Derek is standing behind her with an apologetic look on his face.

"And I suppose you're the _friend_?" Jennifer snaps.

"Me?" Stiles asks, tilting his head innocently. "Yeah, Derek did some work for me about a year ago. Who are you?"

She narrows her eyes. "My name is Jennifer," she growls. "I'm Derek's _girlfriend_."

Derek groans. "We broke up months ago!" he says loudly.

She whirls to face him. "Well we'll just have to fix that, won't we?" She pushes at his chest. "Come on, into your bedroom and we'll fix you right up."

Derek honestly looks like he's going to vomit.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Derek, would you kill me if I—"

"No," he says. "_Please_."

So he swings out of the bed and walks over to them, slipping himself between Derek and Jennifer. "Hi, yeah, friend of your _ex_ here. Before you get all willy nilly in the bedroom, I want you to see something."

She fumes. "Why would I want to see anything from _you_?"

Stiles smirks, stepping around Derek to walk down the hallway. "Simple curiosity, really."

She huffs before stomping after him, heels clicking loudly since Derek doesn't have any carpets. Stiles leads her to the door, where he swings it open and points to the unwelcome mat. "See that?" he asks.

"I'm not _blind_," she snaps.

"Of course not. Step outside and read it for me, would you?"

She does, like an idiot, right in front of the mat and outside of the door. "UNWELCOME," she reads, and then looks up at Stiles with a glare. "Is _this_ what you wanted to show me? How unwelcome I am here?"

He grins. "Precisely. Have a nice day, bitch." He closes the door in her face and quick locks it.

There's silence for a few days before Jennifer all but screams, but Stiles is able to watch her walk away into the elevator through the peep hole.

"Well, that was fun," Stiles says, turning around. "I've had to do that for a lot of my friends," he says to Derek. "Hopefully that won't make it worse."

Derek is leaning against a wall, arms crossed and an impressed look on his face. "That's what I need around her," he says. "A voice of authority."

Stiles smirks, walking over to him until they're only inches apart. "I can do that."

Derek hums, suddenly picking Stiles up and setting him up on a kitchen counter. They're standing just like back in the alley with the heater, except now Stiles is close enough to the edge that they're touching, and the hands at Stiles' sides aren't just brushing, and their lips are on each other's instead of cigarettes.

"Want a stick after breakfast?" Derek asks when he pulls away. "I try not to smoke inside."

Stiles nods, untangling his fingers from the man's hair.

Derek moves away to get the food ready, Stiles slides off the counter and watches carefully where all the dishes come from. If he's going to be staying here he should know where everything is. Everything gets set up at the tiny, two-person bar counter, and they both bunker down for some food.

"You never told me," Derek says around a mouthful of burnt bacon that Stiles has dubbed inedible for himself. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yeah," he says around his eggs. "I wasn't able to answer thanks to that mouth of yours." He winks. "I slept really great, actually. You have one of the softest beds I've ever shared, not to mention warm."

"Glad you liked it. Do you get cold easily?"

"Yeah, but I think it's just 'cause I don't drink enough water. It's supposed to regulate your temperature an' all, but I just drink a lot of Gatorade. I woke up once in the middle of the night sweating because you were so intensely wrapped around me; it was great."

He nods, taking more bites. "You radiate a bit of cold, actually, which I appreciate in the fact that, yes, I am always hot, so I warm you up and you coll me off."

Stiles grins. "Cool."

Derek puts the dishes away, and Stiles takes that time to do laundry, stealing a black bathrobe so he can wash his own clothes and the bedroom sheets as well.

"Mind if I take a quick shower and use up all your hot water in the process?" Stiles asks.

"No, feel free," he says, flitting a wrist. "I don't have work today, so I'll just put new sheets down."

Stiles takes a quick shower, shaving what he needs to. When he gets out he notices the old cuts on his arms in the mirror, and the itch is suddenly so strong that he almost falls over. He sneaks out of the bathroom and into the kitchen (he can hear the TV going in the bedroom, so that's where Derek must be), snatching up the razors from where they're still sitting out on the counter before sneaking right back.

He doesn't know how long he stares into the mirror before he actually leans against the counter and puts the blade to his skin. He hasn't cleaned them yet. He'll do that…eventually.

Unlike a lot of people, Stiles isn't sure if he still cuts because he hates everything or if it's simply an addiction now—because it can be, and it is. Now it's just something that he he's used to doing. He doesn't think he does it anymore just when he's sad, or cold, or whatever. He does it whenever he gets the itch to do it, which could be happy or warm or anything else. He doesn't know how to explain it.

Contrary to popular belief, some people don't actually build up much of a pain tolerance to this kind of thing. Maybe it's because Stiles is smile, but it hurts every time. His skin still heats up at the concept and his blood is cold.

It's just something that he does, now.

Six cuts later and Stiles rinses off the smeared blood with cold water after it clots enough, and then he does some silent snooping for a few bandaids. He doesn't find anyway, but that's fine since there's for some reason an entire box of gauze wrap in here. Stiles doesn't usually do any bandaging, but Derek just seems like the kind of guy that would rather that happen than nothing at all.

He puts the razors back on the counter before going to find Derek, and at that point he's out on the balcony connected to his living room. He has a cig in his hand, and when Stiles opens the door he turns and holds the box out to him.

Stiles smiles, snatching one out. The lighter is outlined in Derek's back pack, and he fishes it out for a light before pushing it back, leaning against the railing. Considering that they're only on the second floor they're not that high up, but it's high enough that there's a bout of chilly October wind. Derek must notice too, because he wraps an arm around Stiles' waist and steps over to stand behind him, his arm keeping his stomach warm and his body the entirety of his back. Stiles smiles again and blows out a puff of smoke as he leans back against him, and Derek rests his head lightly against Stiles'. People walk and drive passed, going about their daily business. Few look up, and those who do don't give a second glance at the two men.

"About Jennifer," Stiles says, pulling in a drag. "You did change your keys and numbers, right? Because she's totally crazy."

Derek snorts. "Yeah, I definitely did that. We were only together for about four months."

"_Women_," Stiles mutters. "Can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em off."

Derek breathes a laugh. "Tell me about it."

After some more silence, Stiles can't help it: "Uh, thanks," he says. "I mean about… Well, you know."

He presses a kiss to the top of Stiles' head. "You're welcome."

There's more silence after that, even after they finish off their cigarettes. They just sort of stand there, feeling the breeze and breathing it in. That's when the unexpected happens:

"Stiles? Hey, Stiles!"

Stiles frowns, because who on earth would be around to say his name so excitedly? He leans against the railing, scanning the ground to see—

"Hey, Danny!" Stiles calls down, waving. "Fancy seein' you around here?"

"Who's that?" Derek asks.

"The friend who bought me those shoes in there," he says.

Danny's smile is far too bright, but that's the usual Danny. "I was just passing by and I saw you up there with that hunk! He takin' care of you alright?"

Stiles grins back at Derek before calling back, "Yeah, Dan', he's great. How's the new boyfriend?"

Danny looks like he's swooning. "He's amazing, Sti'. Anyway, hey, I just talked to Lyd's this morning and she seemed kinda worried."

Stiles frowns again. "Really?" Like he said, she's good at keeping it pretty hidden out much she cares.

"Yeah, she called arounf a few of your favorite places for you. No wonder she didn't find you if you're all the way out here in the middle of no man's land! I'd give her a ring if I were you."

"Yeah, I will! Nice to see you again, Danny. The shoes are _great_."

Danny grins even brighter than usual. "Awesome! See you around, dude. My couch is always open."

"Mmhmm, thanks!"

And he's off.

Stiles turns back to Derek, a smile playing on his lips. "I hope, though, that I won't actually have to use his couch anytime soon."

Derek smiles warmly, leaning down to kiss him, his tongue drifting around just once on the outside. Stiles starts to kiss him back more, but he pulls away. "You should call Lydia first." He fishes his cell phone out of a pocket. "I don't have a house phone, so you can use this."

Stiles takes it. "And _after_ I talk to her?"

Derek smirks. "I'm going to need my bathrobe back." He goes back into the condo as Stiles dials up Lydia.

"Hello?" her voice replies. Usually she replies to whoever it is who's calling her in a different way depending on whom it is, but she probably doesn't recognize Dere's number.

"Lyd's, hey, it's me!"

"Oh, Sti'!," she exclaims. "I was wondering when you'd need my couch again. I haven't heard from you in a couple of days. Where are you? Do you need anything? A ride or some food or—"

"Lydia, Lydia, relax, I'm fine." Geez, so much for hiding affection in the closet. "I'm at a place, all warm and fed and happy where I am."

"Oh, good. What's his name?"

"You might know him, actualy—or at least your boyfriend might. Derek Hale. He works in construction like Jackson."

"I've heard his name, yeah. Convenient. I'm sure you're safe there. Is he treating you alright?"

"Yeah, he's great. One of the best, in fact. He gave me a cigarette because I ran out, and then he actually just wanted to make sure I had a place to go. You know me, though. Hate sleeping alone."

She giggles lightly, because yes, she knows Stiles well. "Well, call me if anythuing goes wrong. Do you think this Derek will care if I save his number?"

"It'll be our little secret."

"Ooh, my favorite. Do you want to talk to Jackson about him real fast?"

"_Actually_, Derek is waiting for me inside…"

She lets out a low whistle. "Then go get him, wolfhound."

"Thanks, Lyd's. I'll see you later."

"Mmhmm, bye."

Stiles smirks as he closes the phone, flicking his finished cigarette over the balcony edge before turning around and walking back inside. Derek is already sitting on the bed in just jeans, reading something. Stiles drops his bathrobe in the middle of the floor, and _that's_ when the man notices him, eyebrows shooting up and the corners of his mouth curving up as Stiles crawls up onto the bed towards him.

And what's better than having the satisfaction that you turn someone on because of how damned sexy you can pretend to be? Nothing, that's what.

**XxX**

Altogether, Si is at Derek's for a week. He still has his job, of course, and at those times Stiles wanders aimlessly around the condo or just goes out to walk in the freezing weather. He cleans a lot too, because if he can't pay for anything he should still do what he can.

He only cuts when he's not there, cleaning up everything perfectly so Derek has no idea about it until he's pushing up his sleeves. He kisses them sometimes, and that just makes Stiles blush a lot, which makes him laugh, which makes him want to cry, which usually leads to sex, which he completely approves of.

It's the seventh day that Stiles _truly_ wakes up—and he has a headache, of course. Not because of the beer he had last night, no. it's just throbbing because it can. And that's when something hits him, and he realizes that what he's doing has gone too far.

Derek is still in bed, an arm slung around Lydia's waist and his face smashed into a pillow. Stiles slips out from under him and gets out of bed as quietly and with as little movement as he can, grabbing his clothes and taking them just outside of the door so he can dress a little louder.

It doesn't matter, though. Derek wakes up.

"Stiles?" he calls from the bedroom.

Stiles shrugs on his sweatshirt. "Lydia called your cell phone," he lies, zipping it up. "She needs me back at her place."

"Oh." He doors open, Derek standing there. "Do you want breakfast before you go?" He's just in boxers, and Stiles hates how much he wants him again.

"No, I'm good," he says, walking towards the door. "Did you put my shoes anywhere?"

"No, they're right there.

Stiles bites his bottom lip, dropping to the floor to get on his socks.

"Don't forget your razors," Derek says as Stiles stands with his shoes on. "I mean, since you're not coming back."

Stiles frowns, mostly just annoyed that he saw right through him again. "Who said I'm not coming back?"

"Don't play stupid, Stiles. It's all over your face. You're scared."

Stiles' frown turns from annoyed to irritated. "And who are _you_ to tell me when I'm afraid and what it is that I'm afraid of?"

He shrugs, crossing his arms. "Nobody at all. I'm just the guy with the cigarettes."

Stiles' heart breaks a little, and he sniffs in deeply.

Derek takes that as a good sign. "You don't have to be scared," he says.

"I can't stay anymore, Derek," Stiles says, backing up towards the door. "I've never stayed this long with anyone before. Three days was my max before this. I mean, aside from Lydia's. I get attached to people easily, okay, and I don't want it to happen with you. I don't want it to happen with anybody. It's too painful to think about that maybe one day I'll just be in one place. Simply…staying." Now he's quoating Sherlock BBC, shit.

Derek blinks for a few moments. "Okay," he says at length, quietly. "But don't forget your razors. You'll need those. Oh, and remember the disinfectant technique I taught you. Lydia's bound to have some at her place, or worst case you go to Danny's. Do you want a cigarette before you go?"

Stiles shakes his head, bakcing up some more. "No, no, I don't want anything. I have to go." He flings open the door and all but runs out to the stairwell. The cold air outside rushes at him like it's trying to swallow him whole.

"Stiles!"

Stiles looks up to see Derek standing up on the balcony.

"Here." He drops something down to me, and Stiles catches what's a brand new box of cigarettes with a lighter taped to the side. After staring at them a moment he sees that there's a message written on the side in Derek's messy, construction worker scrawl:

_I'm not addicted yet._

When Stiles looks back up, Derek is already gone. So Stiles just starts walking, lighting up a cigarette as he goes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Five days have passed since Stiles left Derek. Lydia welcomed him back to her place without question. Stiles is currently sitting on the bathroom floor, facing the open door. His head is resting against his knees where they're pulled up to his chest. He can't breathe right and he wishes that he knew why. Even after Derek mentioning them, Stiles still didn't grab his razors, but Lydia got him new ones. They're scattered around him right now, but they're all still clean. Lydia get them the second day Stiles was back, but he hasn't used any of them yet… He's not sure why.

It hurts, though. Stiles has woken up three nights in cold sweats that even a cigarette couldn't cure, so he just sits there and stares at them. It helps a little. But he's got to stop, doesn't he? Nobody likes his scares. He doesn't even like them. Nobody's ever told him outright that they don't like them (out of the people he's stayed with, anyway), but he can always see it in their eyes. It's like a disease that they don't watch to touch. But Derek…

He kissed them. He actually _kissed_ them. He made sure Stiles cleaned them and made sure he was bandaged properly and he's the only one that's ever really _cared_ and it's terrifying.

Stiles has one cigarette left in the box that Derek gave him, but he can't seem to get himself to use it yet. _I'm not addicted yet_. Maybe he will use it now… He grabs the box and grabs it out, using the lighter that Derek gave him as well, and pulls in a drag so deep that it makes his eyes water. He traces his fingers over the empty box, going lightly over the words.

And then something catches his eye. Something inside. He looks into it, eyes widening at the four words written in the same messy scrawl on the bottom of the inside of the box:

_But maybe I am_.

If the box had been all wrapped up…it means Derek would have had to write it before Stiles decided to leave. He wouldn't have had time to do all of it as Stiles was running down the stairs to get outside, which means…

Which means Derek knew that Stiles was going to leave all along and had it ready for him.

Stiles yanks the cigarette from his mouth and leans up, emptying his stomach into the toilet beside him. He vomits twice before collapsing back on the floor, feeling tears well up behind his eyes but keeping them away. He was only there for a _week_. One fucking week and he's staring to fall. Stiles likes people, but that doesn't mean he's ever started to fall in love with any of them. He's never actually wanted to _stay_ somewhere. He's never wanted another person to _want_ him to stay. But Derek does want him to stay, and it hurts. It hurts like hell.

Lydia walks in, squating down beside Stiles and pushing her fingers lightly through his hair. "Jackson brought some chicken home for dinner tonight," she says quietly, looking into his eyes. Her eyes are the same brown as Stiles', and the same pale skin… That's it, though. "Do you want any?"

Stiles pulls in another drag of his cigarette. The bathroom window is open so it doesn't linger. "I just threw up."

She purses her lips and nods before standing. She looks like an angel with the bathroom light right behind her. "We won't save any for you, then. Get some sleep, Sti'. You'll smile once today, I promise. **You're gonna come around soon.**"

Stiles goes out into the kitchen at about two in the morning to see that there's just enough chicken for him to eat, saved on a plate, wrapped in plastic wrap. Stiles just sits at the end of the table and cries.

**The angel said he'd smile today, but who needs angels anyway?**

**XxX**

Day six Stiles makes sure he's changed his clothes before going out into the real public (being more than just the faded gypsy-styled bar about a block away that Lydia works at; everyone knows Stiles there, so it doesn't ever matter what he looks like). He stumbles out of the apartment with the little money that he has (a twenty, which he got from Lydia for cleaning a bunch of random stuff) in his back pocket and his razors in his sweatshirt pocket. He hasn't used them since he left Derek's, but that doesn't mean that they don't make him feel better just to have them around. He's got the empty cigarette box with the razors, so he grabbed one of Jackson's sticks before going outside.

His feet carry him back to the heater, and he has to hold back more tears. He sits down on it, soaking in the warmth just like before as he lets his legs dangle off of the edge.

That's when Derek's there again. Stiles didn't even know that he showed up at the same time as he did last time. Shit. It hurts to look at him, another cigarette in his mouth. Stiles just watches him, though, thinking that he's going to just…keep…going. But then he turns, and there's a look on his face and in his eyes that Stiles instantly knows to be the look he's worn every time he passes this place. Every day after work when he walks home, just to see if Stiles is there. And when he's not, it's just for the memories. He misses Stiles, too.

This time Stiles is here, though, and Derek stops completely. He just stares at Stiles, eyes somehow too wide but also half-lidded at the same time. His exhales leave cold fogs in the air, through not from the cigarette, which hangs limply in his hand at his side.

And Stiles has the audacity to smile. "I have my own today," he says just loud enough for Derek to hear him.

Derek walks over to him without saying anything, standing in the same way he did the first time: leaning against the heater but not actually touching each other. But then he does touch him, the hand not holding his cigarette sliding around Stiles' waist. Stiles can't help it after that. His legs wrap lightly around the backs of his, holding him to the heater, and he drops the hand holding his cancer stick to lean up and return the kiss that Derek is leaning down for, breathing in his scent and swallowing his taste like a drug.

When Derek pulls away, his eyes are happy, but his smile is somewhat sad. "Lydia's called me three times since you left," he says.

Stiles blinks at him. "What?"

Derek nods. "She said that you haven't called up any of your other friends and that you just hang around her place and her bar. Also you don't eat enough and you haven't been…using your razors at all." He swallows tightly. "I want you back, Stiles, and I don't mean as a rent boy. I like you, dammit, and I know that you like me too and that it scares you. I know what it's like to be scared about things—I dated _Jennifer_ for fucks sake, and she's enough to scare anyone. We can just start over, though. You can stay in the back room tonight and I'll make breakfast again and we can stand out on the balcony afterwards. You have to come back, Stiles… Lydia is having fits to the moon and back. Besides, your cigarette is almost out…"

Stiles stares up at him, pulling in another drag. He wants to say no, because _he can't do this_, because he's not addicted yet, and he really doesn't want to become so.

Derek kisses him again at his silence, and when he pulls away Stiles nods, because yeah, maybe he is.

They walk home slower than the first time, Derek's arm around Stiles' waist again and Stiles' right back around his. Derek makes a comment about how Stiles needs to start dressing warming, but Stiles waves him off with something about being used to it again. When they get inside, Derek kisses Stiles lightly on his temple before telling him that he really does have the intention to make him sleep in the extra room—and Stiles is grateful for that, because he thinks he needs a night to himself.

A night that he can just think about how idiotic he is.

**XxX**

Stiles wakes in a cold sweat, tears pooling behind his eyes. He managed to hold them until after he gets out to the balcony, letting them unleash in a way that wracks his body with horryfing sobs. He collapses into one of the chairs there, just staring up at the stars.

It's about ten minutes before he calms himself down, and he drags his hands down his face as he walks inside, flopping onto his new bed. He's still in his clothes, but at least he managed to get his shoes off.

He falls back asleep.

**XxX**

When Stiles wakes up the next morning, Derek is lying on the edge of the bed with him. Stiles crawls soundlessly over him to get to the bathroom outside of the door since he has to pee, and when he looks back inside the man is still fast asleep. He doesn't want to wake him so he just makes himself some coffee before going out on the balcony again.

He's out there for about half an hour, taking in the cold and the view, before he decides he should go inside for a cigarette, so he pushes open the door for a rush of warmth.

Derek is sitting at the table there, head bowed from where he's leaning his elbows against his knees, a cigarette sitting loosely at his fingers. When Stiles opens the door, though, his entire body snaps up. He looks surprised, which just makes Stiles arch an eyebrow.

"Um, good morning?" he says, slowly setting his empty mug on the table.

"The blinds of the doors were drawn," Derek says, licking his dry lips. "I didn't know you were out there. I thought you already left again."

Stiles' heart skips a beat. Derek thought he left again and he panicked. Stiles gives a warm smile. "I'm not going anywhere this time," he says quietly as he steps just in front of him.

"Promise?" Derek asks, hands reaching up to set themselves on Derek's hips.

"Ask again later," he saysm sliding forward to straddle his waist. "When I know for sure."

His arms snake around Stiles' waist as they kiss, nothing slow. Stiles' hands instantly jump to Derek's shirt, pushing it up and over his head and then dropping it to the floor beside the table. His fingers work quick at the buttons of Stiles' own button-up Lydia got him a while back, hands tracing over the planes of his chest.

"This is a good look for you," the older man breathes, kissing hungrily down Stiles' neck.

"What, straddling you?" Stiles asks, his hands dropping to his boxers. He's just in a shirt (well, _was_ in a shirt) and his underwear.

"No," he says, gasping against Stiles' skin when he paws him through the fabric. "I meant what you're wearing."

Stiles looks down at himself. The button up, jeans, and converse. "Why?"

"It's casually sexy," he says as he pushes Stiles' hand away from between his legs and managed to spin him around so that he's sitting sideways and can strip Stiles' of his own boxers, and then he spins back into the straddling position.

Stiles grins. "I missed you," he says, kissing Derek hard before he can answer. He's never said it to anybody before—well, except for Lydia, but she doesn't count. She doesn't count for a lot of things.

Derek pushes his tongue passed Stiles' lips, and he pulls out a moan when his hand brushes between Stiles' own legs. His eyes snap open too, and Derek's are open as well, and it's the way he's staring so deeply that Stiles knows exactly what he's thinking: _But maybe I am_.

Stiles suddenly gasps against his mouth, feeling a finger press behind him. He didn't notice that Derek was slicking a finger with precum, just figured it was to make him feel good. Stiles is usually well opened, but it's been a week since he's done anything; it closes a guy up a bit. Stiles pushes back against his fingers, kissing Derek hard.

When he's stretched him with three fingers, Stiles growls at him to just fuck him already, and Derek grins. Stiles slides off of his lap just long enough to kneel in front of him and lather his cock with saliva, and then he crawls back onto his lap to slide down onto it, straight down to the hilt. His knees hitch up so that his feet can rest on the edges of the chair, lifting himself up again and again for Derek to pound into him. Stiles' hands wrap around his neck and tangle into short hair, and Derek's own hands grip onto his hips, guiding him up and down.

What with all the pent-up sexual tension, it's not long before Stiles is being pushed over the edge, coming out between them. He forces himself to pump faster for Derek, and their eyes lock as he feels the man release as well.

They both sit there in silence for a few moments, waiting for the shuddering to stop.

"I have today off," Derek says at length, holding him tight. "You can't leave. Please."

"I won't," Stiles breathes, holding him back. "I won't." He kisses him softly, pouring the truth of the words into his very being. He knows he won't. he hasn't promised out loud yet, but he won't.

He's finally fallen. It's not love yet, but it will be if he stays any longer. That terrifies him. He can either run and not let it happen or stay. So he does the proper thing: he falls asleep in Derek's arms.

**XxX**

Four days later Stiles wakes up in Derek's bed, wrapped tightly in blankets. The other man is moving around in the kitchen, getting ready for work. Stiles has been back at Lydia's twice to grab his things, because he knows very well he's not going anywhere.

He swings out of bed and grabs from the floor the first pair of underwear he sees, surprised that Derek's actually fit him. He walks into the kitchen, stretching his arms up. "Morning," he says around a yawn.

"Good morning," Derek says back, spinning around to kiss Stiles on the forehead before continuing on to the door. "I'm going to be back a little later tonight. You were where the food…" He trails off, looking at Stiles' waist. "Are those mine?"

Stiles looks down, feigning innocence. "Oh, would you look at that? They are. They were the first things I grabbed off the floor.

He walks back over to Stiles, hands splaying over his sides as he kisses him slowly, deeply. "Have I told you yet how happy I am that you came back?"

Stiles smirks, his hands tracing over Derek's shirt, feeling the muscles alive underneath it. "Only fifty-seven times."

"Is that all?"

Stiles breathes a laugh, pushing them away from each other. "I'm going to make you late for work again."

"You're worth it."

Stiles smiles, because what else is there to do for something like that? "Get to work, Derek. We'll need the money now that I'm here."

He rolls his eyes heavenward, dropping his hands from where they were still holding Stiles' hips even though the rest of them weren't touching. He knows that Stiles is looking for a job again, because being in an actual relationship makes him feel bad that he's not helping provide for anything. Sure, there's the sex, but that doesn't really count as a payment for Derek. Damn him making Stiles care… Well, maybe care isn't the right word, because he cares about Lydia and Jackson but has never had the urge to buy them anything.

"Try not to get thrown out of another gas station," Derek says as he shrugs on his leather jacket. He's got a scarf, too, but it's loose.

"I was not _thrown_ out," Stiles mutters, crossing his arms and leaning against the nearest wall. "I was simply shown the door as soon as the man realizes I'm the city's _rent whore_."

"_Stiles_," Derek says in an undignifided whine, crossing the room again. "What have I told you about calling yourself names?"

Stiles sighs. "Don't."

"Exactly. When are you going to start listening to me?"

"When people stop recognizing me for it."

"Define 'people'."

"Not just five or ten people, Derek. Everybody."

Derek sighs, kissing Stiles' forehead again. "Well it shouldn't be long then, right? People will ask to buy you a drink and you'll have to decline because you're with me."

Stiles can't help but smile, pushing up on his toes to rub their noses together. "Go on, Derek. it's not that import…" He trails off, eyes going wide. "Derek, that's it! Drinks!"

Derek takes a step back to blink at him. "Drinks? What?"

"Oh my god, I can't _believe_ I've never thought about it before! Lydia's been hinting at it for years even though I wasn't twenty-one yet. 'You make a _mean_ buttercup scotch, Sti'.' 'Good god, you could go out and sell these cherry vodka martinis they're so good, Sti'.' 'You'd be the cutest gay bartender, Sti'.'" He lets out a laugh, spinning off to the bedroom. "Derek, I know where I'm going! I'm an idiot! This is great!"

Derek pokes his head in, utterly confused. "Stiles, what are you talking about?"

"Nope, go to work." He flops around on the bed, attempting to put on the same outfit that Derek called "casually sexy". "I'll explain everything tonight! Or if the world really loves me I'll have to call you. If I'm nowhere around, call Lydia, and if even she's in the dark—which she won't be—I'll be at the Garpsy!"

Derek wrinkles his nose up. "I can't believe that's really what it's called."

"Actually, I think it's called the Bar at Mimzy's since that what street it's on, but all of the employees and frequenters call it Garpsy. Like, bar and gypsy mixed together, you know? They're known for their mixed concoctions, so it works."

He gives a sort of look and shakes of his head that says _this is way too much work and I don't even care anymore_. "Alright, whatever, do what you want. If you're not back by eight, give me a call, okay?"

"Right, sure," Stiles says, hopping across the room as he shimmies on his pants. "Have fun at work." He pushes up on his tiptoes to give him a goodbye kiss. "You're definitely going to be late."

"I know." He flits off.

Stiles grabs his shirt and goes to put it on while out on the balcony, waving to Derek as he walks out. He would wear something underneath it this time, but Derek doesn't have anything that fits him and none of his own shirts go well under it. That was the nice thing about staying with this one guy who was smaller than him… Nobody is actually _that_ much smaller than him, which means they could share clothes every now and again. His name is Scott and he's got a girlfriend now, which is why Stiles hasn't seen him in a while. He's hoping he won't see him again in the same way as usual, mostly because he really likes Derek but also because he and Scott didn't really like a lot of the same positions.

As soon as Stiles is dressed he lets out a dying pterodactyl noise, because he still needs to shower. He strips in a flurry, showers faster than he has in months, and then dresses in the same flurry before grabbing his favorite of Derek's sweatshirts (his is too thin now that it's colder). He locks all of the doors when he leaves and then takes the stairs three at a time, walking as quickly as he can to get to Lydia's.

He lets himself in, because it's early enough that she's not at work yet. Derek's supposed to be to work by ten in the morning, but Lydia doesn't go to the bar until…well, it depends on the day. It's usually open by one in the afternoon and stays open till about two in the morning. She gets there at about noon, so she should be up to start getting ready now.

"Lyd's?" Stiles calls in a high whisper that he knows she'll know is him and come running out to him. She does, clad in the sheerest nightgown material that Stiles has ever seen—and he's seen a lot since being here. He doesn't care, though, since he's used to it.

"What is it?" she says, rubbing her eyes. "Did Derek throw your razors away? Did you meet somebody else? How many cigarettes did he give you?"

"Lydia, seriously, calm down," Stiles says, holding his hands out. "I'm still staying with Derek and my razors are nice and safe."

"Oh." She stretches. "did you see Jackson when you came in?"

He leaves about now for work, too. "No, I must have just missed him and his truck."

She nods. "What is it, then?"

"I need a job."

She blinks at him before moving to sit on the arm of the couch there in the front room. "What kind of a job?"

He grins. "Want a cherry vodka martini?"

She laughs and clasps her hands together. "Oh, _Stiles_, it took youlong enough! Just a minute, just a minute, let me call Erica"—(her boss and the owner of the bar, Erica Reyes)—"for you. We _knew_ I'd be giving her this call eventually."

She dials up, and as she waits for an answer, she looks Stiles over. "Nice," she says with an approving nod. "Casually sexy." Then her attention snaps back to the phone. "'Rica?" Pause. "Yes, of course it's me. Stiles finally figured out how to put his godly mixing skills to good use." Pause. "Yeah, he's ready. Do you want me to bring him over now or when I usually go in?" Pause. "Lovely, we'll be there. Thank you so much, 'Rica. You know exactly what you're in for." Pause. "Yes, yes, I love you too. Say hello to 'Zac for me!" (That's Isaac, Erica's boyfriend.) She hangs up.

"It just occurred to me," Stiles says, "how many bisexual people you know. It must rub off on people." Lydia and Jackson both are, Erica and Isaac, Scott, a million others at the bar, and now Derek.

Lydia snorts. "Matt was born that way." Matt is Lydia's son. She had him back when she wsa fourteen, and when she gave him up for adoption she was able to keep in contact after all those years. She doesn't see him as often as she wishes, but that's mostly due to the fact that Matt's pretty hard to get along with. Stiles likes him, but he's not really the most lovable guy when you get down to it. Lydia had a son, too, that she had when she was sixteen (which was twenty-one years ago, so he'd be Stiles' age now), but he died while in the womb. Stiles hasn't even met Matt, though… He's talked to him on the phone and heard all about him, but never actually met him.

"Alright, I'm going to get ready," Lydia says, jumping up from the couch. "Stay here, because as soon as I'm ready we're going straigtht to the Garpsy." She flits off.

So, while Stiles waits, he does the only practical thing that there si to do when one must wait to be taken to a job at the bar: he practices his mixes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Stiles hears someone sit down at the counter beisde him, and he spins around on his heels without looking up from the glass he's cleaning—because, yeah, he totally got the job. Erica loves him to death, and Isaac loves him even more, which is almost awkward, but Stiles is used to that too. He knows both of them like the back of his hand since he's here all the time, not to mention all of the costumers.

"Evening," Stiles says with a bright smile, still not looking up so he can get these damn lipstick marks off. "What can I get you on this starry night?"

"You."

Stiles almost drops the glass at the voice. "Derek!" he syas with a bright smile. "You came!" He sets the glass down and leans across the counter, kissing him hard.

Somewhere down the counter he hears a woman say, "I'll have what the man in the leather is having."

A laugh from Lydia pulls Stiles away. "You've earned your break, Sti'," she says. "Fifteen-twenty minutes in the back office. I'll make sure 'Rica and 'Zac don't walk in on you."

Stiles grins, speed-cleaning the glass before putting it away. "Come on," he says, grabbing Derek's hand and pulling him towards the office. The blinds are always drawn shut, but Stiles locks the doors as well. Erica won't care.

"I take it you to my message," Stiles breathes as Derek pushes him up against the cleanest wall.

"Yeah," he breathes back, leaning down to bite at Stiles' neck. Stiles doesn't even know how many bite marks he's gotten from the man… He's got a thing for it a Stiles thrives on it. "Congratulations on the job. Think you've earned a reward?"

Stiles smiles, pushing a hand through Derek's hair. "That depends."

"I don't even care what it depends _on_." He pulls away from the wall and drops to his knees. "You're getting one."

He undoes the button of Stiles' jeans and pulls down the zipper in the same fluid movement, and then pushes Stiles' jeans and boxers down both at once. He takes the head of Stiles' cock into his mouth before Stiles can even say anything, and then everything in the world but his _mouth_ ceases to exist.

Stiles doesn't know how long it takes, but eventually he's biting against his bottom lip so he doesn't moan too loudly to be heard outside by anyone. "Good god," he breathes as Derek pulls his mouth away and crawls up his body until their faces are level. "I should do things right more often."

Derek smiles, leaning to give Stiles a short kiss before speaking: "You do things right all the time. I'm just proud of you for getting passed what everyone is saying."

"Ah-ha, so you admit that they're saying things!"

"Did I ever deny it?"

"Touché."

"Now that you have a place to stay _and_ a job, you'll stop putting yourself down, right?"

Stiles sighs. "No, not until everyone _else_ acknowledges those things."

"Are you sure we can't classify 'everyone else' as like…five or six people?"

Stiles purses his lips, but Derek continues before he can say anything else:

"Six people that know about you, but don't _know_ you. People who have simply seen you and know what you used to be, but now they know that you're with me and you've even gotten this job, but they don't know your personality. So they're just people off the streets."

"Good god, Derek, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I have a few friends who don't know a thing about you, but very well could, and then you could see for yourself that people don't think of you that way anymore."

"_Who_?"

Derek sighs. "My parents, two sisters, and uncle."

Stiles gags a little. "Your _family_? Derek, you're going to owe me everything in the entire world if I have to meet your _parents_."

He smiles. "Anything. Come on, you have two minutes 'till twenty."

Despite that, Stiles kisses him hard before they get his clothes back together, and then they fix up each other's hair and whatnot. Lydia is smirking at them when they come out, but Stiles just gives her a bright smile before continuing on behind the counter as Derek goes to sit at the end seat. They walk when they can, between Stiles' taking and making and delivering of the orders.

It's this moment that Stiles is telling him (and everybody else that's listening, because those seated at the front bar table that consists of eight chairs, with five on one end and three after the curve of the counter) a particularly riveting tale about a time Stiles _almost_ got into a bar fight.

"So he finds out that I like dick, you know, and he's flipping all sorts of shit. Tells me his dad was gay and tried raping him as a child and all this other bullshit he was having trouble making up on the spot to justify his prejudices. And of course that's before I worked here, so I was sitting out in one of these front seats, and that's when Lyd's came over to rescue me. She flipped about four times as much shit as this guy, and he ended up flat on his back before she drug him out by his foot and told him not to come back.

"I remember that," Bobby Finstock (one of the guys listening) says. "I was sitting right beside you! It's a crazy sight watching a female protect her young."

Stiles snorts. "She's _hardly_ my mom, just helping me out. You all know how I used to get around."

All of them but Derek give one of those "ifyouknowwhatimean" nods of acknowledgment. Derek just sighs a little—and that's when Stiles realizes he can use this to his advantage.

"But!" he says, grabbing some glasses a woman sets on the counter for beer refills. "That's all in the past since I've got a new wolfhound."

Derek gives a shy look as the others laugh.

"What's so different about him?" a man Stiles doesn't know ask. He's got milky white eyes that suggest being blind, but it looks like he's alone, so he either knows how to get around or just has crazy contacts. "what is it that your 'other guys' didn't have?" He looks…strangely professional and not at the same time.

"Yeah, Sti'," Lydia says, suddenly showing up beside me, cleaning some glasses. Somehow, even when on the other side of the room, she knows what he's talking about. "What is it?"

Stiles grins, purposefully not meeting Derek's gaze, and hands the woman her refrilled drinks. "Well, he cares more than the others," he begins, glad that none of the "other guys" are currently in his crowd. Danny and Scott were both great, they just…weren't the same. "And he's bigger than me, because topping? Blegh."

"Amen, bro," Heather says, raising her glass.

That's when Stiles turns to Derek. "Anything I should keep my mouth shut about?"

Derek shrugs. "Details."

Stiles nods at him before spinning back to his crowd, stopping in front of one he knows will have a cigarette. He knows these guys (and girl) pretty damn well. "It started with a cigarette." He holds his hand out.

The guy in front of him, Adrian Harris (Bobby's step-brother), rolls his eyes before reaching into the breast pocket of his button-up and pulling one out. Heather, sitting beside him, pulls out a lighter for him.

He grins at them both, leaning against the counter more and puffing smoke out into Bobby's face. He's his favorite here, mostly because he's the most eccentric. After him is Heather because she's the nicest, Boyd because he's quiet and sarcastic, and Adrian is last because he's pretty much just a dick. Those four and Derek are sitting on the side of the counter with five chairs, and over on the other three cheers are filled with people Stiles doesn't know. The one man that looks professional and not and two women.

"I was sitting in an alley a few blocks down," he continues, "you know, the one with the heater? Then this guy here"—he motions to Derek with the cigarette—"happens to walk by with a cancer stick right as mine went empty, and you all know how I am." He pulls in a drag, blowing down at the ground. They're not actually allowed inside, but Stiles is telling a story, so why not? "I called him over and we got to talking, 'cause hey, that's what I do.

"He notices my scars, we talked about my age, blah yadda blah. Long story short he wanted to make sure I had a place to stay—seriously, he was going to stick me in his guest bedroom and everything. But, hey…" He shrugs. "You know me."

He pulls a laugh from everyone but Derek and one of the two women, Derek giving a shy sort of look and the woman just…glaring a bit. She's been glaring a lot, actually, both at Stiles and Derek. He wonders what her problem is.

"So I said something about heading home—"

"Home?" the second woman asks. She looks far nicer than the other woman. "I gathered you didn't have a place."

"I stay with Lydia," he says, waving his cigarette to gesture to said woman as she sashays around the room. "I stay with her when nobody else takes me in for the night. Well, I used to."

She nods, and Stiles goes back to his story:

"When he saw right through me—seriously, I can't lie to the guy at all—that I didn't really have a permanent home he _insisted_ that I just stay with him. Not for the sex, but because he's Mr. Nice Guy who wants to help out poor little rent-boy over here. You know he even asked me about running away? I'm a _little_ older than seventeen, thank you very much."

Stiles winks at his bf (god, that sounds weird) as everyone laughs some more.

"So I'm there for a week, you know, which is weird all in itself seeing as though I usually spend a grand total of a couple of nights at one place at a time. Anyway, all of my habits come along for the ride: getting up too early, cutting, smoking, all that jazz. I realized that…I was scared, about him caring so much. The only people I've ever let myself get really attached to are Lyd's and people that I _don't_ sleep with, like you four." He gestures to Bobby, Heather, Boyd, and Adrian. "So, I, uh… I left."

They all give sad sounds, and Stiles blows smoke up at the ceiling.

"I was gone for a week. I only left Lyd's place to come here, and I didn't even cut. I just stared at the bathroom door a lot." He sighs, blowing more smoke out to the ground. "So I went back to the heater one night, and there he was. I went back with him and _actually_ stayed in the guest bedroom, and then I gave him a panic attack because I was smoking out on the balcony and the glass doors had drawn shades and he thought that I had already left again. And…here I am now, and week later and still at his place—_and_ I have a job. Total turnaround, right?"

That's when the happy cheers come in, because who doesn't like a happy ending?

"So you've really got a boyfriend now?" Bobby asks, holding out glass out for a refill and some bills to pay for it. "No more friends with benefits?"

"Nope," Stiles says, handing Adrian his cigarette to finish before fixing Bobby up one of those cherry vodka martinis he's so good at making.

"Hey, hey, I've got a question for the lucky guy," the unpleasant looking woman says.

Stiles looks over at Derek, who gives a sort of _oh wait that's me_ look before he actually sees who's talking to him and gives an irritated look. "What?"

The woman has dark hair, dark eyes, and semi-dark skin. "How the _hell_ could you have such an _evil_ heart that you dumped our _best friend_ for _him_?"

Derek gives an angry groan, and Stiles groans too, and—hell, every single person at the counter groans. Even the woman beside her and the other man give small ones, closing their eyes in a sort of _oh god please no_ looks.

"You missed it," Derek mutters. "Jennifer came back before I got over here."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Derek, dude, you gotta stop opening your door. Or hey: _restraining order_. Jackson almost got one against me once. But, seriously, if I have to bitch her out again I'm going to be a hell of a lot less polite."

"Oh, you _are_ the guy who slammed the door in her face!" the pleasant woman says, and somehow it's not said at all rudely. It's more like a revalation.

Stiles smirks, walking over to both of them and leaning against the counter. "And what can I call you two _lovely_ ladies."

"Paige and Kali," the pleasant one (Paige) says before the unpleasant one (Kali) can tell her not to. She also looks over to the guy beside her, but he doesn't even look back, so she shrugs and looks back at Stiles.

"Thank you _so_ much," he says, standing up straight so his eyes can find Lydia. "Oi, Lyd's!"

She looks up.

"We've got a Code Seven."

She rolls her eyes and nods.

Stiles turns back to the women with a smile. "I actually kind of like you," he says to Paige, "but sort of hate your friend, so you two can either leave on your own or we'll call in security. We don't tolerate jealous ex bitches friends like your friend right here, no matter how pleasant their other friends are. Sorry."

Kali gives an irritated huff as she gets up before stomping off. Paige, though, stands and says, "Sorry about her. Jennifer and I met her at a club a few months ago. I don't know why she's so protective over the whole thing… She didn't even like Derek."

Derek snorts. "That's true."

Stiles smiles. "Don't move." He flits over to Derek. "Is she really this nice or is she faking it?"

Derek swallows the last of his glass. "No, she really is nice. I liked her more than Jennifer most of the time."

So Stiles goes back over to her. "Paige, right?" He knows he's right.

She nods.

"Well, Paige, now that Kali is gone, you're free to stay."

She smiles. "Thanks, but she's a little drunk, I'm the only one with the keys to the car, and I stole her wallet."

Stiles laughs. "Well, you're welcome back whenever."

She nods. "Yeah, thanks, I like it here." She turns to the man she was by. "Thanks for the drink."

He nods, giving her a warm smile.

When she's gone, Stiles leans on the counter in front of him. "Know her?"

He nods. "Jennifer is an old colleague of mine, but Paige doesn't know me. We initially came here for the drinks, but since Derek is here too…well, Kali couldn't help herself, I suppose. She said she was going to keep her mouth shut, but she's not exactly that type of person."

Stiles chuckles. "No, she didn't. Refill?"

"No thank you, I've got to get myself home."

Stiles nods. "Suit yourself."

When he turns back around to the other five, Boyd says, "One of these days I'm going to get a look of that code book."

Stiles smirks. "Not today, though."

A few minutes pass of Stiles just simply taking/making/delivering orders again, his crowd repositioning themselves around the bar. Then Derek asks a question:

"What did you mean by 'code book'?"

"It's the book of rules and slang," Stiles says. "Usually we send it home with a new employee so they can study it and know the usual lingo that's used around this place, but I don't need it since I've been reading it out of boredom for the last five years."

Derek arches an eyebrow. "You've been coming here for five years? You're only twenty-one, though."

Stiles scoffs. "Like that would stop me. Cops come in sometimes, but I know my way around. Fake ID's, going to the bathroom, making fake moaning noises when I'm alone in the back office… You know."

Derek snorts. "You've had a fake ID since you were sixteen? Stiles, you can barely pass for sixteen _now_."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Which makes _you_ a pedophile, so shush." He leans across the counter and kisses him. "I've only got a couple more hours until closing," he says when pulled away, picking his rag back up to clean some more glasses. "You probably shouldn't stay here much longer. I mean, since you have work tomorrow. Either hours is not entirely adequate for someone your size."

Derek shrugs. "I've stayed out all night before, I can do it again."

"But _should_ you?"

"It's your first night here. I'd like to stay."

Stiles smiles, putting some glasses away. "Do I really have to meet your parents? And I didn't even _know_ you had sisters, dude. That's sad."

He laughs. "We're not super close, so it wasn't a big deal. And I'd like it if you would… I've never brought anyone to meet them before. They met Jennifer simply because she forced it upon them. They liked her actually. She was great before she was a jealous ex."

"Why did you guys break up, anyway?"

"It was kind of weird, actually. I just woke up one day and realizes I wasn't attracted to her anymore."

Stiles nods. "I can see that. She doesn't really seem your type."

Derek nods. "No, not really. Anyway, if my family liked her I'm sure they'll like you."

"Are you _sure_? Because if they don't…" Stiles sighs. "You know what? Fuck it. I don't care _what_ they think of me. I'll just turn the charm dial up as far as I'm allowed and bullshit my way through it."

"They _will_ like you, Stiles. I know it. You won't have to pretend for anyone. I'd rather them not like you for who you are than like you for who you aren't. don't worry."

Stiles snorts. "Right, because it's _weird_ that I'm worried to meet my boyfriend's parents when I'm a barman who used to be a rent-boy and also happens to look sixteen."

Derek sighs. "Stiles, I think the only way that you're going to…forgive yourself…for all of that is if you stop putting yourself down about it. You just need to…fuck, it's cheesy, but believe in yourself, you know? You've got to trust that people are going to accept you, because how do you expect everyone to forgive you if you won't _let_ them?"

Stiles stares at him. Probably a lot longer than he should, but that's what he does anyway.

Derek stares back for a few seconds before grinning. "Can I get a refill?"

Stiles sets the glass and rag in his hands down in the same movement that he leans across the counter to kiss the man again. His hands tangle into his hair and he pulls him as close as he can over the damn countertop, and his tongue pushes in past Stiles' teeth. When he pulls away, his hands have reached over and are gripping at the front of Stiles' shirt.

"Go home," Stiles whispers. "Sleep. I'll wake you up when I get back, okay? And then we can stay awake a hell of a lot later than healthy."

"Can't I just stay here so we can go home together?"

"No, because I want you to get as much sleep as you can."

He sighs, pulling Stiles forward to give him another kiss. "Fine. How will you get home?"

_Home_. It has a new meaning, now.

"Lydia gets off at the same time. She'll take me."

"So…I'll see you then?"

Stiles nods.

"Promise you'll wake me up?"

Stiles chuckles. "Yes, Derek. Now _go_. You don't even have two hours anymore."

"What if I don't wake up very easy?"

"Then I'll slip my mouth around you cock and bring you to release while you're asleep."

Unlike most men, who would probably have an orgasm at the thought right there, the man just grins. "I can't wait." And he up and walks away after rubbing his nose against mine.

"Stiles."

Stiles turns to the man that had been with Paige and Kali. He's standing closer now, bills on the counter where he was sitting and his jacket thrown over his shoulder.

Stiles smiles. "It bothers me when everybody knows my name but I don't know theirs."

He gives a half-smile. "It's Deucalion, and I just want you to know that you go much better with him than Jennifer ever did."

Stiles blinks a couple times before smiling again. "Thank you."

He nods and heads out.

"That's quite the boyfriend you've got," Boyd says from a chair at the counter. Stiles must have missed it when he came back.

Stiles laughs, picking up his rag and glass again. "You have no idea, man. He's great."

"Really great?"

"_Really_ great?"

"How's the sex?"

Stiles snorts. "A lot better than at Scott's." (Stiles met Scott through Boyd.)

Boyd nods, knocking back some of his beer. "He seems to like you a lot. He didn't stop watching you for a second. It was kind of cute, actually. For someone so big, he doesn't actually seem all that intimidating."

Stiles nods, taking the bill he slaps down for half a glass. "He's really not at all. I mean…I've never seen him angry before. I'm sure he's plenty scary looking at his construction site, though. Anyway, how many have you had?"

"Just two," he says. "I'm tonight's designated driver. We've all got a day off of work tomorrow." ("We" being him, Heather, Bobby, and Adrian since they're always around each other.)

Stiles nods, grabbing some other drink refills for a few other people. "Adrian's still straight, right? I mean, he's getting pretty cozy with that guy over there."

Boyd shrugs. "As far as I know he's asexual or some shit, but he's also pretty drunk now, so I should probably go rescue him."

Stiles nods again. "Good idea."

"I know. See you tomorrow?"

"It's a job now, Boyd. I'll be here."

**XxX**

It's not until Stiles gets to the outside of the condo and Lydia has driven away that Stiles remembers he doesn't actually have a key yet.

"Great," he mutters, pressing the button that will buzz Derek's place.

He's answered a couple seconds later: "Stiles?"

"Uh, yeah, about that extra key I don't have…"

There's a tired laugh before the door clicks open. Stiles runs up the stairs, and the condo door us unlocked. He locks it behind him and kicks his shoes off, padding into the kitchen in his socks. Derek is leaning against a counter, scratching his bare chest and yawning.

"Come on, go back to bed," Stiles says, taking his hand and pulling him along.

"But I'm not tired," he says around a second yawn.

Stiles smirks, pushing him onto the bed before stripping down to his boxers. "Of course you're not. It's two-thirty in the morning, why would you be tired?"

"Is it really that late?"

"It's really that early."

"I thought you got off at two."

"The _bar_ closes at two, but I had to stay behind to make sure everything was put away and turned off."

Derek nods. "What's…what's Code Seven?"

"Kali, basically. Code Six is the jealous ex itself, and Seven is their friend coming along to do their work for them."

"Oh…yeah…I forgot to ask earlier…"

"Dude, go to sleep. You're about to pass out."

"Wh-what?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, making sure the blankets are wrapped tightly around them both. "Goodnight, Derek."

"G'night, Sti'."

He's snoring instantly, so Stiles snuggles up against his side, draping an arm across his chest. And just for a second, the snoring stops:

"Stiles?"

"I thought you were asleep."

"I think I was… I don't remember. I want to ask you something abuot this weekend."

"It can't wait 'till morning."

"I…guess it could."

Stiles sighs. "What is it, then?"

"Can I bring my sisters and uncle over on Saturday morning before you go to work? Cora's boyfriend will probably come, too…" (Stiles has no idea who Cora is, so she must be one of the sisters). "And then next weekend you can meet my parents. Does that sound okay?"

Parents, definitely not, but… Stiles can do that. For Derek, anyway. "Yeah, sounds great. Now go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

He starts snoring again without a word, and Stiles smiles. "Goodnight," he whispers.

* * *

End chapter notes: So the whole part in which Stiles is explaining everything about how he got together with Derek to "his crowd"? Since it's in Stiles' POV I never mentioned it, but during this time Derek is thinking like "they really love him down here" and "he really fits in" and "yes he _should_ have thought about working here beforehand" and stuff like that. Also, Paige is totally going to come into play later because I like her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

When Saturday morning comes, Stiles is pretty sure he's going to pass out.

"You'll be fine, Stiles," Derek says, rubbing his hand over Stiles' stomach to try and calm him down a bit. It's almost working, but not really. "They're more uptight than my parents are and I know they'll like you."

Stiles snorts. "Because _that's_ reassuring."

"Would another one of those rewards calm you down?"

Stiles sighs. "No, probably not. Just…ugh. Let's just get ready."

Derek hums, rubbing his nose against Stiles' cheek. "Shower?"

Stiles nods. "Maybe _that_ will calm me down a bit.

Stiles definitely feels better afterwards, but most especially during. Derek massaged his scalp to put the shampoo in and even soaps up his body for him, kissing Stiles softly during most of it. Just as they've finished drying themselves off they hear the buzz of people waiting outside, and Derek huffs.

"Of course they're early," he mutters. "I'll get it, and you stay in here. Take you're time, I'll keep them out as long as I can."

Stiles nods, moving off to the bedroom to get dressed. "I'm wearing your underwear!" he calls.

"Please do!" Derek calls back.

Stiles throws on random clothes after that, listening to the way Derek's sisters, uncle, and possibly Cora's boyfriend are coming inside. He flits back into the bathroom to brush his teeth and do something to his hair, and after that jumps into the adjoining closet to find a belt (of course he grabbed a pair of Derek's jeans that are too big for him).

"Derek, geez, you didn't tell me you're new hunk had a son!"

Stiles wrinkles his nose up and turns around to see a man in his late thirties, the same perfect jaw as Derek but a completely different hair color. "_Excuse_ you," he says darkly. "I'm old enough to drink."

The man gives a guilty laugh. "Oh, god, you're him, I'm sorry, I—um—Derek! Derek, dude, I could use some help here!"

Derek appears behind him, pushing him out of the way to get into the closet. "He called me a pedophile, didn't he?"

"Sort of," Stiles mutters. "I mean, I know I'm small, but sheesh."

"No, my uncle is just an asshole. Ignore him."

"Hey!" the man says, still in the doorway.

Stiles smirks at him a bit. "What's that? I'm ignoring you, sorry."

He huffs, walking out.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Now I'm nervous again."

"The others are better," Derek says. "Laura doesn't really talk, and the other two are are…well, not that much better."

Stiles sighs. "Let's just get this over with."

They walk out to the living room, and Stiles pegs right away who Derek's sisters are—mostly because they're the only two girls, but also because they look a lot like each other and like Derek.

"Stop talking," Derek snaps at them. "This is Stiles, and _yes_, he's legal."

Stiles rolls his eyes, looking them over. "Hi."

The younger looking girl grins. "I'm Cora," she says. "These are Laura, Peter, and Matt."

Laura gives Stiles a cool, somewhat dark nod as she's standing with legs apart and arms crossed tight, Peter looks a little guilty but also like he's having the time of his life, Cora looks nice enough, and Matt…

Stiles frowns. Matt? Definitely not Lydia's son, he doesn't look anything like her. Not like Jackson, either, but Stiles knows that both of her kids had two different dads. He is giving Stiles an odd look, though.

Derek looks at Laura. "You could at least say something?"

She sighs. "I think he's perfect for you, bro."

Stiles looks up at Derek with an exasperated look. "I'm going to use the bathroom, that way you can all talk about me."

Derek frowns. "We're not going to—"

"We totally are," Peter says. "Take your time."

Stiles rolls his eyes and flits off, doing just that. As he's coming out and just before he rounds the corner to the living room, he realizes that the five in the living room are all talking in semi-hushed tones—loud enough for Stiles not hear now but not enough for him to have heard in the bathroom.

"He really is small," Peter says. "Are you sure he'll stay."

Derek snorts. "What does his size have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Laura says. "His sentences just stuck together. We just want to know if you think he'll stay, Derek."

"He hasn't promised yet, but I know he will. He wouldn't back out now—he agreed to meet mom and dad even!"

"But Derek, dude, he's…" Matt sighs. Stiles hadn't hear his voice before, but sine this doesn't belong to the others it must be his. "You know what he is. You know what _she_ let him become."

Stiles' heart stops, and the only thing that keeps him from collapsing is the way that Derek literally _growls_.

"No he is _not_," he snarls. "It's been _weeks_ since he's been with anyone else, and one of those weeks he wasn't even with me. He could have gone around and done any number of people, but he didn't."

"Manipulation?" Cora asks.

"He wouldn't do that," Derek snaps. "He's sweeter than that. Besides, I've talked to Lydia about the whole thing a ton of times, and—"

"God, leave her out of this," Matt mutters. "I can't _stand_ what she's dejected my very own brother to, lying to him about all sorts of—"

Stiles doesn't even think before stepping out from behind the wall, staring at him.

They all go silent, staring back.

"What did you say?" Stiles says, his voice coming out quiet.

"It's rude to eavesdrop," Peter says, trying to change the subject.

Stiles ignores him, stumbling right in front of Matt. "_What did you say_?"

"Huh?" he says.

"Lydia is your _mom_," Stiles says, looking closer at him. "I'm…I'm your brother…and Lydia is… Oh my god." He covers his mouth with his hand, holding back vomit. "Lydia is my mom. You're my brother. I have a family. _I have a family_." He looks at Derek. "You _bastard_! How long have you known? How fucking long have you been keeping this from me! Oh my god." He grits his teeth, moving towards the door. "I have to go see her." He flings open the door without even grabbing his shoes, running to the stairs and ignoring the way Derek and Matt are calling after him.

"She doesn't want you to know, Stiles!" "It's a secret!" "She's ashamed of herself, you can't!" "Stiles, please, wait!"

"I DON'Talia CARE!" Stiles yells back at them. And he doesn't. He really doesn't.

Stiles doesn't remember the last time he ran so fast, sprinting down sidewalks and weaving between people and all but diving across the streets. When he gets to her place, completely out of breath, he keeps knocking until she opens up. She looks pissed at the intruder of peace until she realizes that it's just Stiles and that he's breathing heavily from running and…yeah, there are some tears there.

"Oh my god," she says, throwing her arms around his neck for a tight hug before leaning back to look at his face. "What did he _do_ to you?"

Stiles sniffs in deeply and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "He kept a secret from me."

"Shit, he's married, isn't he? I knew he was too gentle not to have endured someth—"

"He kept one of _your_ secrets."

Stiles blinks a couple of times. "I told him a lot of thing, actually… Which one did you find out about?"

Stiles can barely get it out. "You're…you're my… _I'm the son that died_?"

She takes a step back, breathing deep. "He…he told you that?"

"No I overheard it when he was talking to his family and one of his sisters boyfriends—my _brother_, by the way!"

She all but faints, falling against the frame of the door and eyes glazing over slightly. "You met Matt. You met your brother. God… He wasn't supposed to find out about you either, but a long time ago Jackson let her go through some of my things and…" She presses a hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. "Oh god."

Stiles just sort of ignores her. "We look nothing like you! How the fuck are we your kids?!"

She shakes her head. "No, you do look like me… The same skin and eyes. You look more like your dads, though. You had different ones, like I told you before. You're able to curl your tongue from me, too." She gives a warm smile. "Genetics, huh?"

Stiles is appalled. "You. Are. _Smiling_ at me? No, fuck you, you don't get to do that right now!" Stiles walks inside, stomping around until he gets to the couch. "Tell me why and how. Tell me everything."

She sighs, walking to sit on the other end of the couch. "I was fourteen when I had Matt," she begins. "You know that story, and you know it didn't go well. Even for the first two years before I was sixteen and had you it didn't go well. So, when you came along from someone even worse than the man I had Matt with, I didn't want any of the same things to happen, so I put you up for adoption as well.

"I…kept tabs on you. I was actually going to adopt you when you turned fifteen if nobody else had, but you ran away before I could. It actually took me a couple of weeks to realize that you had run, and almost an entire year to find that you had started to use your body for a place to stay. I revealed myself to you the second I found out, just for a place to stay when you couldn't find a guy, and after a while I became the one you came to _to_ find a guy. Working a bar, I know a lot of men. And…and here we are now."

Stiles opens his mouth a few times to speak, but it doesn't work all that great for a bit. "But why didn't you _tell_ me?" he eventually chokes out.

"Why do you think I didn't tell you? I was _ashamed_ of myself, Stiles. I got pregnant twice as a teenager from two different guys and I couldn't raise either one of them right. Would you have told?"

"I…I…don't know." Stiles drop his head into his hands. "I don't know. If I were in your shoes I wouldn't have either, but if I get reincarnated and have to make the decision, I'll tell. Because this hurts, okay?" He looks back up at her. "It hurts like hell and I'm not sure what I should do about it, because I've been lied to my entire life. I've always thought about having an older sister who would teach me about guys and the best cologne to wear, but now I don't get any of that because I've already found someone and I have a _sister_. I thought about having a brother too, though… One who was older than me and would try to teach me about girls and then realize it just wasn't going to happen. I even thought about having a dad, but now I don't get that either! The only thing I do have is a mom who's been under my nose the entire fucking time, and all she's done is _lied_ to me. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? The orphanage told me you were _dead_. They told me everyone in my family was _dead_."

Lydia shakes her head back and forth, tears welling up underneath her eyes. "No, Stiles, please no. I was trying to protect you. I thought I was doing what was right. When I didn't tell you, and when I told Matt to not ever tell you either… We both knew who you were the entire time. He's watched you before, but he kept his promise to stay away from you. He wanted a little brother, and he _hates_ me for all of this, but he thought that it would protect you too. He agreed with me that your life would be better if you just kept on believing that you had simply been rescued by me."

"_Rescued_?" Stiles growls. "You think this is _better_? Finding out twenty-one years later that your family is _alive_ and you could have been with them _the entire time_? How the hell was lying to be _better_?"

"I'm sorry, Stiles… I was wrong. I was wrong and I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Is that all you can say? You lied to me after all this time and all you tell me that you're _sorry_? What the hell kind of answer is that?!"

She wipes away some of her tears before answering: "The only one I have."

Stiles all but flies across the couch to her, enveloping her in a hug. "Fuck you," he whispers as she mutters how sorry she is over and over into his shoulder. "I love you. Fuck you."

She pulls away a while later, wiping away her tears completely. "I love you," she says, face enveloping into a very momly smile. Stiles never noticed until now that it's the same smile she's always used around him.

He pulls her closer to him again. "You were just doing what you thought was best. I…I'm sorry I yelled at you."

She breathes a laugh. "I can't exactly blame you. I mean, if I found out all this shit I would have flipped twice as many bitches as you did. You're a good son, Sti'. I'm…glad you were able to find out."

Stiles smiles, and he's about to say something more, but the front door bursts open to reveal Matt, and Derek behind him. The other three are nowhere Stiles can see from here. They all just awkwardly stare at each other, until Stiles finally realizes that his arms are still around Lydia—er, his mom's neck and drops them to his lap.

"Did we miss the makeup?" Matt asks cautiously, though her eyes are shooting daggers at our…mom. God, that's weird.

Lydia (Stiles can't say mom anymore, it's just _too_ weird) and Stiles nod.

"Then we're all good here…?"

Lydia smiles. "Come say hit to your little brother, Matt. Come in and help us start over."

Matt gives a ghost of a smile, coming into the room more and sitting down on the floor in front of the couch. "We've met before," he says. "Hi."

"Hi, bro," Stiles says back.

Derek comes in at that point, closing the door behind him and sitting down on the couch beside Stiles. "Lydia," he says to her with a nod before he turns to Stiles with a cautious smile.

"Don't say anything," Stiles says, holding a hand up. "I'm sorry for yelling at you and I forgive you for keeping a promise."

The man's smile enlarges instantly. "Thank god. Here, I brought you some things." He swings a backpack Stiles didn't see earlier off of his shoulder and unzips it. "Clean socks since you ran all the way over here, your Converse so you don't have to do it again, the sweatshirt of mine you like wearing, and because Matt wouldn't let us leave right away so you two would have time to hash it out I put some hot chocolate into a thermos because my feet got sore from pacing."

Stiles doesn't even thank him. He just throws his arms around Derek's neck and kisses him, trying not to start crying. He has a family.

Lydia chuckles, and while they're still kissing Matt says, "Cora, Laura, and Peter left. They knew it would be awkward if they came in. they send you their best."

"Tell them," Stiles says, pulling away from Derek, "that I hope they'll come back soon."

Derek pulls Stiles into his lap after that, playing absentmindedly with his hair and letting his other hand drape possessively over Stiles' lap, his hand gripping his hop, as he converses with Lydia and Matt.

With Stiles' mom and brother.

With his family.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_One week later…_

Stiles wakes up tangled in Derek's sheets so extensively that he can hardly move. He's pretty sure that's because of the cover wrestling with Derek in the middle of the night, though. He's a bit of a blanket hog. As he attempts to free himself, there's suddenly a large amount of voices booming behind him:

"SURPRISE!"

Stiles yelps and lands flat on his face before managing to roll over and see all of Derek, Lydia, Matt, Cora, Laura, and Peter. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" they add.

Stiles groans, dropping his had back to the pillow. "Nooo," he groans. "I don't liiike surprises."

"Oh shush, of course you do," Lydia says, moving to untangle him and show off to everyone how _not_ naked Stiles is, thank you. "I also know how much you like presents. You have fifteen minutes to get out of those pajamas before we all come bursting in here again." And she's off, exiting the room with the others trialing after.

Derek stays, though, letting out a laugh as Stiles manages to trip out of the bed and onto the floor. Lydia had to have done that on purpose.

"Moring," he says, kissing Stiles after helping him up.

"I can't _believe_ you," Stiles mutters, pulling his mouth away. "A _birthday party_? I thought we were going to meet your parents. I've been preparing myself all week!"

Derek smiles as they make their way to the closet. "They're going to be here, too."

Stiles groans. "This is going to be a disaster. When did you even plan this?"

"The same day that you found out who your real family is," he says, tossing Stiles a pair of boxers. "Remember when you fell asleep in my lap?"

"Obviously I don't remember if I was asleep."

"Exactly. While talking with Lydia and Matt, the subject of your twenty-second birthday came up. We've been planning it all week."

"Traitors," Stiles mutters.

"You know you love it," he says, pulling a t-shirt over Stiles' head. "Now give us a smile."

Stiles growls."

He rolls his eyes. "You'll be fine," he says. "They'll like you, remember? And I know Matt had a bit of a fit about 'what mom let you become', but remember what he said about—"

"Yeah, yeah, he knows I've changed, blah yadda blah. I heard it myself, Derek, I don't need you to repeat it. If your parents like me, then you win and I'll stop hating myself for the last eight years of my life."

Derek smiles. "You may as well just stop now, then."

Stiles smiles back before leaning up to kiss him, throwing his arms around his neck and—

There's suddenly a bright flash, so Stiles and Derek pull apart to see that there's someone standing in the doorway.

"You two are so cute," Paige says, lowering her camera. "Jennifer says hi."

"Who let _you_ in?" Derek asks, eyebrow arched.

"Deucalion did," she says.

Stiles wrinkles his nose up. "Deucalio's here too? Who let _him_ in?"

"Matt did, and your parents are here too. Jennifer isn't, obviously."

"Is 'hi' really the only thing she said?" Derek asks.

"Um…she also said she wanted to talk to Stiles about getting a new boyfriend so she could move on, actually."

Stiles snorts. "Lies."

"No, it's true! Well, I mean, she did cuss a couple of times on the way, but still."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Come on, I can hear our mom's talking."

The three of them walk out, looking out to two people Stiles has never seen before. Derek's dad, Roland, is literally the spitting image of Derek—or really, the other way around. The dark hair and _geez_ what is with this family and great jaw lines? His mom, Talia, is very similar as well, her and Laura and Cora all looking the exact same. Talk about great genes.

"Hey," Derek says, hugging them both. When he lets go, he smile at where Stiles is practically having a panic attack. "This is Stiles." He looks at Stiles, taking his hand. "And these are my parents."

Stiles gives his most polite smiles. "Hi."

"It's _lovely_ to finally meet you," Talia says as she closes the distance between them and gives him a hug.

Stiles gives an embarrassed look before hugging her back, smiling. "I've been waiting ages for this." He realizes at that point, too, that the rest of the condo is empty. Is everyone just out on the balcony or something? That's a lot of cramming.

She laughs, leaning away. "More like dreading, I'm sure."

Stiles starts to deny it, but she just laughs again, this time joined by Roland. "Don't refute it," he says. "We saw the look on your face when Talia went in for that hug."

Stiles gives a sheepish grin. "Well, um…did Jennifer just go in for her own hug?"

"Oh, let's not talk about her," Talia says, flitting her wrists. "She's out of the picture, now!"

Derek quick changes the subject: "Was the drive up alright enough this time?"

"Much better," Roland replies. "No traffic whatsoever."

"My turn!" Talia sing-songs. "Out to the balcony, both of you! The awkward question time is my _favorite_ time…"

Stiles frowns. "Isn't everybody else on the balcony?" I ask.

"No, they're probably over at Deucalion's to give us some space, though I'm not sure," Derek says as they follow Talia out.

"Oh, does he live close by?"

"Yeah, apparently he's in the condo across from us."

When they're all outside, Derek produces three cigarettes and a lighter. When he hands one to Stiles, one to his dad, and keeps the last for himself, Stiles deduces that Talia doesn't smoke.

"Right, let's begin," Roland says from his chair. There are three chairs out there, but the one in the middle is more of a couch, so Stiles and Derek take that one. It's only until Talia speaks that Stiles realizes je

s absentmindedly leaned against Derek, his head on his shoulder and an arm linked with his. Whoops.

"How long have you known our son?" she asks.

"Four weeks today," Stiles replies.

"And have you been with him all those four weeks?"

Stiles blinks a bit. "Um, sort of. The second week I wasn't really with anyone."

Talia nods. "How many past boyfriends have you had?"

Stiles cringes a duck my head. "I…don't know."

"Boyfriends, Stiles," Derek says. "Not just to stay with."

His head snaps back up with a smile. "Just Derek."

She nods, and then Roland takes over: "Derek tells us you only just met your mom… Would you mind shedding some light on that?"

Stiles lets out the tiniest of sighs. "It's not that I just _met_ her… Last week I found out that she's my mom in general. Matt is my two year older brother, and Lydia never stopped beating herself up for raising him the way she did. The first two years were apparently the worst, because when she had me I was put up for adoption. Thing is, nobody ever…took me…" Stiles frowns, realizing how sad his life really has been. I'm the classic little abandoned kid with only a "real" education up to eighth grade since he ditched out before the orphanage got me to high school.

"Anyway, I ran away from the adoption center at fourteen and just sort of stumbled my way around for the first couple of years before Lydia showed up. She didn't tell me about being my mom, but she said I could stay at her place if I wanted to. Now, most people are taught not to go home with strangers, but when you live on the streets it's generally okay if you do. I had been with…quite a few other guys by then." He huffs. "God, I was four_teen_ when I started… Who would actually sleep with a fourteen year old?"

Derek pulls Stiles closer to him and whispers, "Don't think too hard, love."

Stiles smirks up at him, blowing smoke out from a particularly deep drag. "Someone's gotta do it."

That pulls a laugh from his parents, so at least Stiles isn't totally failing at this.

"So she took me in when I was sixteen," he continues, "and I just slept on her couch a lot. But I didn't really just…stay there. That's rude, anyway. So most of the time I would go off and find who I could so I wouldn't be bothering her too much, and I especially looked around when she started dating her current boyfriend, Jackson. After a few months, though, she started…helping? Helped me do better? Whatever. She works at a bar, so she knows all _sorts_ of people, so she would make sure I had 'respectable guys' instead of whoever I found that would take me in. Even took me for checkups at the doctors… I didn't think anything of it. I just went with it. Everything she's ever done for me I've just sort of…went with it. Anyway!

"A week ago, when I first met Matt, Laura, Peter, and Cora, I overheard them all talking with Derek. I already knew that Matt was Lydia's daughter, so when I met her it was like, 'oh hey, meeting my best friend's offspring, that's cool'. It was because of Matt that I found out about my—well, _our_ mom. And that's…that's it… More than you wanted, I'm sure, but that's that. How I met my mom."

Stiles only barely manages to keep his face straight at the accidental TV show references.

Talia and Roland are both smiling, so that's a good thing.

"Just one more question," Talia says.

"Yeah?" Stiles says with a smile. It takes him a couple more seconds to realize that he's smiling up at Derek and not Talia, so he quick look over at her instead. "Sorry, wrong person. What?"

She smiles, catching eyes with her husband. "Never mind. You've already answered it."

"No, no, I'm curious now," Stiles says, holding his cigarette out to Derek so he can have a drag since he finished his. "I want to know."

She smiles warmly. "Later, when it's just us two."

He nods, letting Derek just keep the cancer stick as they rise. "If you insist," he says, opening the door for them to go through.

Back inside, the place is filled with the other guests again.

"So, where did you all go?" Stiles asks the room at large.

"Oh, did we go somewhere?" Peter says, looking around at the others.

They all give shrugs and words like "I don't remember going anywhere" and are just all around lying little shits. Except Deucalion. He gives Stiles a wink.

Apparently most everybody brought something to be eaten (just like a potluck!), and it doesn't matter that it's breakfast time. There's pizza, salad, cake, and apparently sardines are a favorite of Paige's, Deucalion's, and Roland's, but that just sort of makes Stiles wrinkle my nose up a bit.

"Where's Jackson?" Stiles asks Lydia when most everybody is done eating and things have settled down more. Paige and Peter are playing Twister (courtesy of Deucalion grabbing it from his place, who's also the one spinning the dial for them), Matt and Roland are comparing favorite cigar flavors (not cigarettes, but cigars; that's fair), and Derek is playing Monopoly with Talia, Cora, and Laura.

"Working," she says, giving Paige a cautious eye.

"She's not going to bite," Stiles says, nudging her with his elbow.

She breathes a laugh. "I'm just trying to figure her out. I can't tell if she likes Derek or you or if she's just outgoing."

"She's playing Twister with the biggest flirt here, mom. She's just outgoing."

Lydia gives him a huge smile. "That's the first time you've called me mom to my face, you know."

He gives a smile back. "I'm trying to call you that in my head, too, but it's proving to be somewhat difficult."

"It's not that hard. I had to spend years not saying 'your brother when Matt was brought up."

Stiles purses his lips, looking over at said brother. "How did you do it, anyway?" he asks.

"Do what, exactly?"

"You're my mom, shouldn't you have telepathic powers and just know what I'm wondering? You always know what I'm talking about at the bar."

She smirks. "How did I get through keeping it a secret from you after all this time? Lots of hard work, and Jackson helped me with it too after he showed up."

"Good god, even _he_ knew about it before me? Did _everybody_ know about it?"

She gives a guilty laugh. "Well, out of everyone here, Derek's parents didn't, and neither did Paige or Deucalion."

Stiles nods. "Another question: did you know Derek before I actually got together with him? I mean, if he was friends with Matt all this time…"

"Not very well, considering that Matt didn't usually enjoy having anything to do with me. We had spoken once before, but Jackson knew him better since they're in the same profession."

"But you know him better now, of course."

She nods.

Stiles smiles, looking over at Derek. "My razors have been sitting idle in their usual pocket for the last two weeks since I haven't been wearing that sweatshirt at all," he says, giving an internal laugh as Matt tries to get Derek to give him a fist bump and then gets heartily rejected. "Mostly since I've been wearing Derek's coats to keep warmer, but you know."

"Why'd you stop, anyway?"

"Guess."

"You are taking this moms intuition thing much too far."

"Guess anyway."

"Because you love him."

Stiles blushes, looking up at her. "I don't think that's why. I mean, it's only been a month. It takes more than that to fall in love. Besides, there's not enough background for that quite yet…"

"Bullshit, Sti'."

Stiles frowns, looking over at Derek. "How so? I don't know him well enough."

"No? What's his favorite color?"

"Silver," he says, looking up at her again. "But anybody could guess that just by walking into this place, so I don't think it counts as a reason for—"

"What's a place that he's always wanted to visit?"

"Nowhere; he's content right where he is. But I don't understand how that has anything to do with falling in lo—"

"He is the reason that you stopped cutting, correct?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"What's his least favorite fish?"

"Good god, why on earth would I know that?"

She just blinks at me.

Stiles sighs, crossing his arms and looking down at the ground. "Clown fish, but I only know that because his least favorite movie is Finding Nemo."

"I rest my case."

"Just because I know some of his favorites and least favorites doesn't mean I love him."

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Okay so it doesn't, but you still do."

"But _how_?"

"There is no how, Stiles. It's not a 'how'. You can just like someone a lot and know as much about them as you would if you loved them. It's a moment that you realize it."

"Well wouldn't I know if I had realized something?"

She gives a rough sigh. "Fine, maybe you don't. But tell me when you do, okay?"

"_If_ I do."

"I think you already do, so this conversation is over."

"Argument."

"Discussion."

"Quiet yelling fest."

"Wow," Paige says from where she's completely tangled up with Peter. "Could you guys _have_ a louder quiet fest?"

Lydia sighs and Stiles groans. "Did you really hear all of that?" he asks her.

"Yup," she says. "But I'm pretty sure it was just me."

"Me too, but that's it!" Matt calls, raising a hand up and completely confusing the three people he's playing with.

"And you definitely do, by the way," Paige adds, somehow managing to lift her camera up and snap a photo of a smiling Peter. "Tell us when you figure it out too!"

Stiles throws his hands up in the air. "Whatever, I have to pee." He walks off to the bathroom, and when he opens the door to go back out and socialize he nearly has a panic attack.

"Sorry, sorry," Talia says quietly, steadying Stiles with her hands on his shoulders. "I was going to knock, but then you opened the door."

"No, it's okay," he says with a smile. "Is the other bathroom being used as well?"

"Actually, I was looking for you."

His smile falters just a little, and he tries to cover it up before giving up the idea. "I know you saw that," he says.

She smiles. "Closet?"

"It's the only place we won't be interrupted, probably."

They don't close the door behind them, and the instantly that she crosses her arms Stiles starts babbling: "I know I'm not as smart or as pretty as Jennifer and that my background is the absolute worst in the world. I know you wanted him with someone else and I'm really sorry that it's me because I'm probably the worst for him because I know I'm not good enough for someone like him and I'm sorry if I'm—"

"Stiles, Stiles, please, calm down," she says, putting her hands on his shoulders again.

Stiles manages to get a few more trails words out about _disappointment_, but when he really stops talking she drops her hands. "That wasn't at all what I was going to say," she says, leaning respectively against the wall by the door of the closet.

"Oh," he says awkwardly. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Would you like to know the question I was going to ask earlier, or not?"

"Oh, right! I would, thans."

She smiles. "Good then. I was going to ask if you loved him, but now I see that the more appropriate question is how _long_ have you loved him?"

Stiles groans. He can't help it. "I'm sorry, I just had this conversation with my _own_ mom. I…it's only been a month. I don't think people are _able_ to fall in love in just a month."

She gives a tiny smirk. "Roland and I did."

Stiles sputters, but before he can say any real words she continues:

"Remember when you accidentally just kept looking at Derek when I was first going to ask this question? And did you notice how many times you reached up to fix his hair, even when your cigarette was forgotten during your speech?"

Stiles blinks at her. "I did?"

"And you picked lint pieces off of his shirt."

"I don't remember that either."

She smiles and leans away from the wall and uncrosses her arms. "Tell me when you realize it, too."

"Wait, realize what?" he asks as she walks back into the bedroom. "No, wait, don't leave, I'm still confused! Is this about being in love still?"

But yeah, she's gone.

Stiles sighs, leaning back against the wall and looking at all of the clothes on the top shelf. That is one ugly sweater. "You know," he says out loud to myself, "sometimes I'm not sure if anybody actually likes me or if the whole world is just really good at acting."

"Maybe it's both," a voice says behind me.

Stiles manages not to jump out of his skin but to calmly turn around to see none other than his brother.

"Hey," Stiles says to him with a smile. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"Derek wanted me to make sure you weren't going to run out and jump off of the balcony after his mom got to you," she says with a laugh. "He would have made sure himself, but he's a bit….tangled up at the moment."

Stiles' eyes light up. "Oh my god, he's playing Twister, isn't he?"

He's already passed Matt by the time he nods, nearly tripping over his socked feet on the hard floors as he takes about two seconds to take in the scene on the living room floor: Paige is playing Twister with Derek now (and not tangled up at all, because they're still on opposite sides of the mat), and Roland and Deucalion are taking turns flicking the dial.

And Stiles just can't help it. He sprints across the floor and literally dive tackles Derek, pulling a surprised yelp form his mouth and a scream from Paige. He and Derek roll a couple of times before they end up side-by-side on their backs, Derek in a silent _what the hell just happened_ and Stiles laughing.

"That was _terrifying_!" Paige says as she laughs too. "You didn't even give a battle cry!"

Stiles rolls slightly onto Derek so he can look at her. "Of course not, that would have given me away!"

That's when Derek starts to laugh. "Shit, Stiles, are you _trying_ to give me a panic attack?"

Stiles smirks. "One or two."

He laughs, pulling him up with as he sits up. Paige sits down beside us, lifting her camera up at us. "Smile!" she says brightly.

They do, and for a moment they're half blind.

"My poor eyes," Stiles mutters, rubbing at them.

"Well, they're beautiful from over here," Derek says.

"You can't even see me."

"So?"

He laughs again. "Paige, honestly, you need a new camera."

"Nope," she says. "I just need to turn the flash off."

When Stiles can see straight again he sees Derek's hair is a mess, and it's not until he's reached up that he realizes that Talia is right. They're all right.

Derek gives him an odd look, probably because he's stopped his hand in mid-motion. "Are you okay?"

His face breaks into a large, warm smile. "Yes," he says, finishing the fixing of his hair. "Everything is great." It's true that, yeah, some people can fall in love in just a month. Sometimes people are just perfect for each other.

He looks away, instantly locking eyes with Talia, who smiles at him at the same time she's trying to get Roland's attention. Stiles looks to Lydia as well, who gives him a heavy wink as she nudges Matt.

Derek leans over and whispers into Stiles' ear, though, so he snaps his attention back to him. "I saw that," he says. "Are you in cahoots with our family members to dive tackle me to death whenever I'm not looking?"

Stiles smiles. "Something like that."

He kisses Stiles, though they make sure it's decent enough since both their parents are here. Well, not Stiles' dad, but that's not important. And honestly Lydia doesn't give a shit... So basically it's just for Derek's parents.

"As soon as everybody is gone," Derek whispers into Stiles' ear quiet enough that even Paige doesn't hear, "I'm locking us in our bedroom."

But yeah, Paige hears anyway. "Ew," she whispers again. "Gay people."

They stick their tongues out at her at the same time. "You're just jealous," he says.

She gives a somewhat shy smile. "Nope. I've got all sorts of friends at college."

Stiles frowns. "You go to college?"

"Well, I didn't go this semester because I had some things to do with Jennifer and blah, blah, blah. But I finished my freshman year, and I'll be going back next semester."

She's about to say more, but Deucalion calls her over to help him with who knows what, so then it's just Stiles and Derek sitting on the floor, and yes, he find myself picking little lint pieces off of his shirt. "I love you," he whispers

Derek looks down at him. "What did you say?"

"Olive juice?"

Derek blinks a bit. "Do you really?"

"Well, I don't think I'd like to drink it straight, but—"

"Stiles."

"Yes _really_."

Derek kisses him again, but this time a little less PG.

"Ew!" Paige calls from the kitchen, but nobody else seems to pay any attention. They just all keep doing whatever it is they're doing.

"Are all of your things here?" he asks in a whisper, holding Stiles against his side. It's bad enough that they're tongue fucking in front of mostly respectable people, but straddling him would just be too much, so Stiles stays on the ground beside him.

"Yeah, I finished moving in back on Monday. My one box of possessions that aren't clothing is in the back bedroom. Why?"

"So you're _completely_ moved in?"

"Yes…"

"Will you promise me now?"

He sucks in a shaky breath, because that really wasn't the question he was ready for. "Yes," he breathes, swinging his legs to sit sideways on his lap, because fuck decency for five minutes. "Yes. I promise."

He breaks into a huge smile. "Really? You're really ready to say it?"

"Do you want me to repeat it?"

"A thousand times."

Stiles leans up and press his lips to the shell of his ear. "I promise. Nine-hundred and ninty-nine times I promise again."

And he kisses Stiles again, so they ignore Paige's "ew's" and everything else in the room for five minutes. Sure, they stay PG for how they usually are, but they certainly don't pay attention to anyone.

"Want to know something?" Derek asks at length.

"Yes," Stiles says.

"Question first. Did you ever find my note in the cigarette box I dropped down to you?"

Stiles nods. "What about it?"

"I've decided that there's no maybe anymore."

"Are you saying that—"

"I love you too."

And everything is perfect. No more cutting, no more sleeping around, and—

"My parents said they like you," he says, interrupting Stiles' thoughts. "They said that the past is the past and then they pulled the Kung Fu Panda quote on me. You know, the present is a gift and that's why they call it the present and all that."

Stiles blinks at him. "Which means…?"

"That's right. Six people."

And Stiles isn't a whore anymore. So yeah, everything perfect. Even as Paige is making kissy faces at them from where she's doing dishes with Deucalion (doing the dishes in someone else's house? Who does that?) and Stiles' own mom is looking around the room to make sure no one is looking at her before making very intense humping motions at him… It should be weird, but Stiles grew up that way, right? So yeah, everything's perfect.

"PRESENT TIIIIME!" Paige screams a few minutes later, swinging open the pantry door and leaping aside as a few wrapped boxes tumble to the ground.

As Stiles and Derek stand, Stiles can't help but run the dumbass Kung Fu Panda quote through his head a few times. Maybe they call it the past because it's already long gone passed you, no matter how long or short ago it was. And they call it the future because what the hell kind of a word is that and they just want it to sound all high-tech, like it shouldn't have been invented until what it means anyway.

And of course they call it the present because it's a gift. And that's just so appropriate, isn't it? When Stiles realizes that on his birthday? The very day that he's getting all of these gifts? The day that he realizes life really is a present?

That's also when he realizes that he's thinking too hard. His entire life is a reference from How I Met Your Mother and Kung Fu Panda, all rolled into one. Except pandas don't smoke and Ted doesn't cut, so maybe I'll just stick with something simpler…

His life is one…big…addiction. Something nobody wants, but everybody has. And he's okay with that.

_**The End**_


End file.
